Work Song
by FirstTheColors
Summary: AU. Beth is a new hire at the bar Daryl frequents. Drugs, alcohol, drama, and angst...of course there's angst. This accidentally turned into a slow burner despite my best intentions. Rated M for reasons. Naked ones.
1. Chapter 1

**Title taken from Hozier's "Work Song." If you don't think that's one of the sexiest damn songs...you're wrong. Thank you to my wonderful talented rude beta, MollyMayhem84, for telling me this didn't suck. **

Earl's bar was slower than usual for a Saturday night.

Daryl stared down at his empty beer bottle, remembering what his brother had told him.

"_Ray, baby brother_," Merle'd said as he sat on Daryl's Lazyboy and stared at the ceiling in silence, sweating through his shirt and stinking something fierce. A girl Daryl had never seen before was sleeping on his couch, and the whole place smelled like stale air and vomit. He'd probably have to replace the entire damn couch to get rid of the stench, as if he had the money for it. "_His name is Ray_."

That had been the most he'd been able to get out of him. Didn't matter. He knew the guy just by reputation. Daryl didn't want to go, didn't like to help Merle on his drug runs when he was too fucked up to go himself. But his brother was with him at home, at least, instead of in some other shithole, and if Daryl didn't get him what he wanted he might move onto more brown and dead pastures.

So here he fucking was, sitting at the bar a few stools down from everyone else. He had finished his beer a while ago, but the girl working the bar had been doing a shitty job keeping up with orders. Where the hell were the real bartenders? They were at least familiar with his order, and would've had Daryl well on his way to getting hammered.

But instead he was dealing with this blonde girl, one he definitely didn't recognize. She was new, that much was clear, nervous hands with a nervous smile. She stuck out like a sore thumb, a young little thing. He wasn't even sure she looked old enough to work here. Maybe she was someone's sister, a daughter. She'd been screwing up all night, mixing up drinks, giving wrong change. More than once she'd had to ask people to explain what they wanted. She didn't belong here. Hadn't stopped people from filling up her tip bowl, though. Must've been enjoying the new blood.

Whatever. Earl's new hires weren't his business. He just needed to get Merle's shit done and get out before things had a chance to go south. At least he could avoid a fight, which was more than he could say for his brother. Bender Merle had been on these past couple days hadn't been a gentle one. Daryl's busted up table was proof of that. Didn't have the money to fix that, either.

Still didn't know why this had to happen at a bar he actually liked, though. With his luck, the whole deal would turn out to be a set up and he would end the night in jail and banned from here for causing trouble. He wasn't even sure Merle still had his cell phone, or even if he did if he would answer it to bail his brother out.

He held his bottle tighter. Family shit never failed to screw him over, and bad.

Blondie finally came back to his half of the bar, and he nodded her over to him. He was going to need something stronger than this if he was going to get through the night.

"Sorry 'bout the wait. Can I get you somethin'?" she asked, her pretty face still nervous and her voice hitting a high, girlish pitch.

"Double o'Jameson, neat," he said, but then remembered the lack of bills in his wallet and frowned. "Best make it a single," he corrected, but as he spoke she took out a little notebook and pen from a pocket in her apron and wrote down what he was saying. "Really need to get that down?" he asked her, bemused.

She blushed bright red, tapping the pen against the pad. "I've been mucking up some people's orders, so I thought I -" she stopped explaining herself when she looked at his face, quickly shaking her head. "Anythin' else?"

"No," he said, and slid his empty beer bottle across the bar to her.

She didn't even make a move to catch it, and the glass crashed to the floor, shattering with a noise that caught the attention of half the bar.

"Oh!" she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand and flashing even brighter red.

He had a feeling he was looking at her like she was crazy, but he couldn't help it. "You ever work at a bar before, Blondie?"

She looked like she was about to cry as she glanced around at the broken glass around her. Everyone else started to turn back to their business, quickly forgetting, but she stood dead still, seeming lost as to what to do. "No," she said miserably. "Lemme - I'll get ya your drink," she said, turning around and stepping over the glass. She waved a hand over all the bottles, indecisive before landing on a bottle of tequila. She looked back at him, the question all over face.

Christ. Girl didn't even know her liquor. He shook his head no, gesturing with one finger for her to go to her right. She touched the top of one bottle, then the next, landing on each one until he nodded his head that she had guessed correctly.

"This is my first night," she apologized as she brought the bottle over, reaching underneath for a clean glass. "I don't got it all down just yet. Neat means no ice, right?"

"Yeah," he grunted, taking a quick peek around the bar to make sure he hadn't missed Ray's entrance. He looked back at the girl when he was sure he hadn't. "Just you here now?"

"No. One of the older girls tried trainin' me this mornin'. She's just been on break," she said, pointing back towards the door that read 'Employees Only'. "A really long break," she said under her breath, glancing at the door.

He grunted again in response, only half listening as he heard the bell above the door tingle, signaling someone else had come in. He looked over his shoulder, trying to be discrete, and sure enough he saw Ray had finally arrived.

Christ. He would've been able to pin this guy as a dealer even if he hadn't known him. His skin was pale, even though it was the dead of summer, his watery eyes sunken into a face with too much skin. He took his sweet time walking through the bar, stopping here and there to talk to who Daryl guessed were more of his customers before stepping up onto the stool next to him.

The girl had finished pouring his drink by now, and he took a sip, grateful to have something to put in his mouth besides his foot. He'd done this for Merle before, but each time was different. He risked bringing up old unsettled scores, pissing the wrong people off, upping the price of whatever he was buying. He'd learned it was best just to let these guys talk themselves out.

He stared straight ahead, not acknowledging the dealer as he slid onto the seat next to Daryl.

"Long time, no see," he said, way too friendly. "Where's my favorite Dixon tonight?" he asked, not looking at him as he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up, revealing track marks all up his arms. Blondie had obviously seen them too, taking one look at him and heading to customers at the other end of the bar without taking his order.

_Exactly where you put him, jackass_, Daryl thought, but didn't say it out loud. He just shrugged, giving Ray a sideways glance and an attempt at a smile that probably came out as more of a smirk. "Couldn't make it."

"Shame, that's just a shame," Ray said, shaking his head. His whole body was shaking, his hands tapping on his bouncing thighs. Needing a fix.

That just set Daryl more on edge. A dealer that was also an addict. Merle was fucking scraping the bottom of the bucket with this trash. He was stiff just having to sit next to him, and no matter how much he tried to relax his muscles they stayed clenched so tight he was worried about breaking the glass in his hand. This guy was bound to notice if he didn't calm down.

One of the other girls - he thought her name might be Cindy - finally came out from the back. She took one look at Ray and turned away to go visit the booths, her eyebrows raised to her hairline, leaving Blondie alone at the bar.

Ray called his attention back, nudging Daryl's shoulder. "That's the kind of help I like to see, eh?" he said, nodding towards Blondie and looking her up and down crudely.

Daryl could tell she had heard him, her body stiffening as she fumbled with a customer's change, dropping coins all over the ground.

"Beth," Cindy chastised from the booths, looking over with crossed arms at the girl who was on her hands and knees trying to pick up coins.

Beth. Blondie had a name. Daryl racked his brain, trying to think if he had heard it before, but he was coming up blank.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the girl apologized, standing back up again and looking queasy as she dropped the change in the customer's waiting hand.

Ray whistled at her, loud and obnoxious, and she reluctantly walked over to where they were sitting, taking her little notebook back out of her pocket.

"How can I help you?" she asked, and then, looking more nervous than ever, she added a "sir" onto the end of it.

Ray laughed at that, too loud and too long. Daryl was feeling sorry for the girl, who couldn't seem to not make a mistake. She had a look about her that just screamed sheltered, but it suited her. Didn't need to learn reality in a place like this from a goddamn drug dealer.

"Get him the same as me," Daryl told her, giving her an out.

She looked at him gratefully, but before she could go, Ray held out his hand, a twenty dollar bill between his fingers in offering. She hesitated before taking it, but as soon as she had he grabbed her hand, pulling her closer. "Keep 'em coming, sweetheart."

Daryl shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the urge to push the dealer back and away from Beth. She was going to have to get used to people like this if she was working here, but that didn't help Daryl not want to punch him any less.

But the girl wrinkled her nose at him in distaste, yanking her arm from his grip and turning away.

Huh. Gone better than expected. Girl had surprised him.

Ray didn't seem to notice the rejection, turning back to Daryl, his body all jitters. "Where were we?"

"I'm just here for Merle," he said, watching the girl's back as she pulled back out the right bottle this time. "Dunno 'bout anythin' else."

"Wish he had shown up," Ray sniffed, knocking his knuckles against the wood of the bar. "He uh," he said, shooting Daryl a smile that revealed yellow teeth. "We've got some unfinished business."

Fuck. Merle hadn't paid this guy yet? "How much?"

"One fifty."

Daryl's stomach dropped. How much fucking shit was Merle on to owe him so much? He had $15 on him right now. He should've guessed Merle would have sent him in blind like this. He looked down at his glass, shaking the whiskey around, trying to think of what to say. He couldn't go home empty handed. "I don't got it."

"That's a problem," Ray said, smiling at Beth as she tentatively gave him his drink and making a quick exit.

"Gimme a week," he said. He hated asking for favors. It set him off to his core, pulling him way outside of his zone of comfort. No fucking way did he want to be indebted to this guy, but he didn't seem to have another choice.

"Hmmm," he said, still tap-tap-tapping his fingers against his thigh.

He wanted to punch him so damn bad. He could walk out. He could leave this dick before he had a chance to say anything else. But then where would Merle go? And would he find his way back?

Beth was looking at him from the corner of her eye, her concern clear. That didn't make what he was about to say any easier.

He turned his head towards Ray, not quite able to make himself meet his eye. "Please," he said, his whole body revolting, his jaw clenched to the point of teeth breaking. His goddamn fucking brother.

"Why the hell not?" Ray finally said, but Daryl still didn't let himself relax. "I'll give you the week."

He reached out his hand for Daryl to shake, and he took it, feeling the little baggy of pills pressing against his palm. He made a fist, catching the bag between his fingers, nodding once at Ray and then starting to swivel back around in his chair, hoping that would be the end of it.

But Ray caught his hand just like he had the girls, making him meet him in the eye. "A week. Then I'll have to deal with your brother more directly."

The threat was there, plain as day. Daryl's muscles twitched. He could take this guy. He could take this guy so easy. Wouldn't even be a fight.

But then he let go, hopping down from the stool like nothing had happened. Daryl's fist thudded on the table, jarring his drink and making the carton of glasses shake.

Beth had been watching them both, her brow drawn in concern. When she saw Daryl had caught her staring, she quickly turned away, but only managed to keep it up for a second, looking back at the hand Daryl still had clenched tight.

Ray stood behind him, clasping Daryl on his shoulder. "You tell your brother I said hello."

He nodded, not looking at him, not even moving as he waited.

Beth looked more scared than ever. "Who was he?" she asked, her eyes wide as they tracked him leaving the bar, not looking at Daryl until the door was shut.

"No one," he told her once he was sure he was gone, and he hoped that was the truth.

"Didn't look like you should be talkin' to him," she said, and even though she wasn't looking at him now, he thought he could hear disapproval in her windchime voice.

"Don't look like you should be here at all," he said. He didn't know why he was talking to her, but he wanted to hear her answer.

She looked him in the eye at that, squaring her shoulders and clearing her throat. "Doesn't look like you should be tellin' me where to be," she said airily, reaching for an abandoned glass and a rag.

He raised his eyebrows, amused by her defiance. He had said something to piss her off. "That so?" he asked, leaning forward on his elbows.

"Yep," she said, but just as quickly as the fierceness had come it had gone again, and her shoulders fell. "Sorry. You're right."

"Why're you here?" he asked, his curiosity finally getting the best of him. "You Earl's girlfriend's kid or sumtin'?" he guessed, sizing her up and down. Definitely didn't share any resemblance to the balding man he knew.

"No," she said, looking down as she rubbed at the glass that wasn't getting any cleaner. "Apparently," she said, her voice filled with a bitterness that hadn't been there seconds ago, "my daddy knew the owner pretty well."

He wasn't sure what that meant, but it sounded like a whole can of worms that he didn't want to open. Instead of answering, he downed the rest of his drink, swallowing loudly as he finished it in a few gulps. She watched him with wide eyes.

"Did you want another one?" she said hesitantly, like she wasn't sure she was supposed to be asking.

"No," he said, taking out his tattered wallet and throwing the last of his fives on the bar before hopping off the stool. "Keep the change."

She gave him a gentle smile. "Thanks," she said, raising her hand to wave goodbye before blushing and opting instead to wipe her hands on her apron.

He almost smiled back, but instead he turned around and walked out, taking care not to look back.

Pretty blonde girls in bars weren't his business.

**I have a general idea of where this story is going, and it will be by no means a slow burn. But I've not done a story quite like this one before, so tell me what you think as we all get aboard the Bethyl train. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Here we are! Chapter 2! Thank you so much for all the attention the first chapter got. I've been working to make sure this chapter was ready tonight...I'm going to very, very tentatively try to set some kind of schedule for this story, probably on a weekly basis. Maybe less time if the chapters are shorter. **

**Anyways, back at it. **

Daryl didn't have any business being back in this bar. He probably should've been spending tonight trying to find more than a couple bucks to rub together before his week was up, but his day had been shitty and it was too good a chance to pass up.

Beth was still working, her and some other girl whose name he couldn't think of and didn't matter. It was raining outside, and a Monday night besides, and the place had been empty since he'd come in. He'd worried that the girl would try and talk to him again, but she'd left him well enough alone, just getting him a new beer when his was empty.

Right up until now, when she came over and stood in front of him, taking away his bottle without replacing it with another.

It took a second of her standing there before he looked at her. She only gave him another drink when he looked her in the eye, her fingers grazing against his as the bottle switched from her palm to his.

"Can you help me with somethin'?" she asked him, tilting her head.

He looked at her blankly, but that didn't stop her.

"I need help, learnin' which drink is which," she said, gesturing back to where the bottles stood in a row against the back shelf.

What was he doing, talking to her? Better question, what was she doing talking to him? They had spoken Saturday, but not enough for her to be asking favors. She still looked out of her element, and he found himself thinking again about how this girl just didn't belong here. But how was that this problem, if the girl had bitten off more than she could chew and now she was choking? He looked past her, hoping that one of the other girls would be out tonight and stop him from doing or saying something he regretted.

But then she blinked, big blue eyes looking at him, and he felt a tug in his chest and a constricting of his throat. It wasn't really a choice anymore, and instead of blowing her off he he slid off his jacket and settled more into his seat.

"Ain't that what they're payin' ya for?" he allowed himself to ask her, bemused.

She smiled, looking relieved. "I might've….fibbed a little. When I was askin' for the job," she said guiltily, looking down. "I might've told 'em that I've got more experience than I have."

He wasn't sure why she was telling him this, and said nothing, waiting for her to get to the point.

"But I told you the other night that I've never done this before. So you're the only person that knows. But I can trust you, right?" she asked, looking him in the eye.

He shook his head no, but that didn't seem to deter her at all.

"Well. I think I can. So you're gonna help me." She went over and grabbed a couple of bottles, bringing them out on the bar between them. She only hesitated when she looked at him again. "Please? Unless you gotta get home."

Get home. Get home to Merle, to whatever company he was keeping. He probably wouldn't even remember in the morning if Daryl had shown up. _Work in the morning,_ he reminded himself, but still, he found himself giving her a nod instead of saying no. "Nah. Don't got nowhere to be."

She smiled at him, her face lighting up, so pretty and new that he chose to look down at his drink instead. "Good."

_What the fuck do you think you're doing?_ he asked himself. Not his business. This girl was not his business or his problem. He wasn't her daddy and she wasn't his responsibility. So why was he staying?

But he already knew. It was something about the way she looked at him. Something he couldn't put his finger on, but something he liked. Something he liked a lot.

"You got a brother?" she asked him as she set more bottles down.

Just as suddenly as he had felt that warmness from her smile, he could physically feel his walls instantly coming down, an actual reaction his body, his shoulders stiffening as his stomach clenched. "Where'd you hear about him?" he asked, defensive as he always was when it came to his family. He wasn't even sure where this reaction was coming from, but he knew that shit with Merle wasn't anything he wanted anyone sticking their noses into.

She looked taken aback. "I thought I heard - the other night, you were sitting with that man, he mentioned the other Dixon, I just figured -"

"He's fine," he interrupted. He didn't want her knowing about Merle. She might look innocent, but no way had she not figured out what Daryl had been doing here that night, what he had been getting. She hadn't meant anything by it, he knew, but even asking she was cutting too close. He felt a need to explain to her, and that pissed him off more. He didn't owe her shit. Let her think what she wanted, it wasn't any problem of his.

"Okay. Sorry," she apologized, her voice quiet. She looked more concerned than ever, eyes wide with fear as she looked anywhere but at him. She opened her mouth as if she was going to ask a question, but after looking at his face seemed to choose against it. Instead, she reached under the bar, bringing out a brown paper bag and setting it between them. She looked around, but most of the bar had cleared out, and she didn't look like she was too concerned about being somewhere else.

She glanced at him as she opened the bag, bringing out a bag of apple slices, crackers, and what looked like nuts. He was still seething, angry beyond what he could explain, but as he watched her he felt himself beginning to calm down.

"I packed snacks, but I didn't have any time to eat 'em," she explained when she caught him looking.

_Who the hell is this girl? _he wondered, frowning. He shifted. He should just leave. That would stop her from being able to ask the wrong questions. "What'd you say yer last name was again?" he found himself asking her instead, as if he hadn't just snapped at her thirty seconds ago. This whole damn thing was a mess, and he couldn't make himself get it together. Merle would have a goddamn field day with this, if he'd've been sober enough to show.

"I didn't," she said, and this time it was her who was suddenly closed off, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Now that was interesting. They both waited in silence before he set his drink down on the table. "Ya said ya ain't Earl's. Nobody outside of town gonna work here," he said, trying to think.

"How do you know?" she shot back. "How do you know I'm not even from Georgia but I found this place and just had to work here?"

"Said your dad knows Earl," he said, ignoring her.

"Knew," she corrected, her mouth set as she looked him in the eye. Her face still looked so pretty it took him a second to figure out she was glaring at him.

"Sorry," he said, dropping his gaze. This whole damn thing was a mess, and he thought again that he should've quit while he was ahead. Or at least not this far behind. Dead daddies weren't his specialty. She had a dead mom, well, maybe they could've traded stories. _Bet mine is worse than yours. _

"S'fine," she said, looking back down at the liquors set out in front of them and taking an apple slice out. "You want one?" she asked him, holding out the bag.

"I'm good," he answered, watching her in faint amusement. He didn't think he'd seen anyone bring snacks to a bar before. Flasks, sure. But sliced apples? "Ya gonna figure this shit out or ya gonna stand there and eat your snacks?"

She shook her head at him, giving him a dirty look. At least, as dirty as she could manage.

"This one is tequila. Like for margaritas, yeah?" she asked him, picking the bottle up to examine it. She twisted the cap off, bringing it to her nose for a sniff. She wrinkled her face in distaste. "That taste as bad as it smells?"

"Only one way to find out," he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Only if you do, too," she said, reaching under the bar and bringing out two shot glasses.

She looked so damned excited. It was out of place, out of place in this bar, out of place in this town, out of place in his life. But it was infectious, that look in her eye, and he was amused rather than annoyed. "Nah. All yours."

"Why not?" she said, ignoring him and pouring it into both glasses.

"'Cause this ain't Spring Break."

"We can make it a game," she offered, sliding his glass across the table.

"Nah," he repeated, looking down at the shot.

"C'mon," she said, a little whine in her voice. "It'll be fun. You look like you could use some fun."

"What's that s'posed to mean?" he asked, only a little serious.

"Just what I said. What do you do for fun, if you don't play drinkin' games?" she asked, leaning down to put her elbows on the table, bringing her closer to him.

"I don't have fun," he deadpanned.

She smiled. Another tug. He had been leaning forward, too, without even realizing it, pulled into her light.

He leaned back. "Didn't know ya needed a game just to drink."

She rolled her eyes, smiling. "See? You could use this. We both could."

He snorted. Barbie girl here thought she could use some fun. He thought back on the week he'd had - Merle crashing, literally, at his place; the steady string of multiple girls that had been in and out since then, each more trashed than the next; Ray; losing money he didn't even have yet to a drug dealer he hadn't even wanted to buy shit from.

Yeah. Maybe he could go along with this. Just for a little while.

He was about to answer when someone banged the door open, hard enough that it swung round to hit the wall behind it, thudding against the glass. Daryl watched as Beth's eyes left his to go to the door, seeing her smile disappear as her eyes went wide and her face crashed into fear. She immediately stood up straighter, stepping back into the bar until she didn't have anywhere else to go. She looked cornered.

Daryl turned around, not even sure what he was expecting had put the fear of God in this girl, but all he saw was a tall, pissed off looking brunette stalking towards the bar. She didn't stop until she reached the bar, standing right next to Daryl, her chest heaving.

"Beth," she said, too loud. She'd been here five seconds and she was already stirring up a scene.

"Maggie," Beth said, trying and failing to straighten up. "I can't talk. I'm working."

"I see that, thanks," she said, giving Daryl a disgusted look from the side of her eye before setting her shit down on the chair next to him, angling her body towards Beth. He'd been about to say something - what, he had no damn clue - but that look was all it took to remind him of who he was, and instead he looked down at his drink. "We've been worried sick about you. You know that?"

"I said I'm working," Beth said, but there was a waver to her voice that took away any strength she might've mustered.

The brunette made a show of looking around the bar. "Yeah. Can see how busy ya are."

She had the same lilt to her voice as Beth, and suddenly, it clicked for him - this was Blondie's sister.

"Think ya can just take off after a funeral and it'll be fine? Mama hasn't left her bed. Shaun hasn't slept. You have any idea what you've done?" Maggie was saying, putting her hands on the bar to lean over it when Beth tried to look away. The louder she got, the more the country slipped into her voice.

"I ain't the one who lied all these years," Beth snapped, a blush fanning up her her neck in her anger. "'Sides, I'm grown. Ya can't just come after me and tell me what to do anymore."

Maybe Daryl could leave. Slip on out of this fight he was somehow in the middle of.

Maggie laughed without humor, and by now the few patrons left had turned towards the girls. "So grown up, aren't ya? Leavin' without sayin' anythin', drinkin' with grown men," she said, shooting him another look.

He shifted guiltily. Ain't how she was making it out to be. He wasn't like that. Wouldn't ever be like that. His chest tugged at him again, but this time it didn't feel good.

"He's helpin' me! Which is more than I can say for you!" Beth said, but not before the pink on her face had deepened to cherry red. "Nothin' wrong with where I work."

"Where're you staying? Is it with Sarah?" Maggie asked, ducking her head to keep eye contact when Beth looked down. "It is, isn't it?"

"So what if it is?" Beth shouted, then seemed to remember herself as she looked in the direction of the other customers left. "I can't do this now, Maggie."

"When, then?" she asked, but when Beth didn't answer she sighed, and when she spoke again it was somewhat more resigned. "Come by the house tonight. We won't make you stay if you don't want to."

"If I say yes will you leave?" Beth asked her, crossing her arms.

"Yeah, I will," her sister said, picking up her purse from off the stool and putting it over her shoulder. She gave Daryl another look, one that was all too easy to read, and then looked back at Beth. "Just come. Please. We all just wanna talk."

She seemed like she wanted to say something more, but she turned around and walked out.

Daryl didn't even look up until he heard her car start outside. The silence that she had left in her wake was deafening, and he didn't know what to do to fill it. _Should've left._

"I'm…" Beth started. "We just -" she tried again, but gave up.

He only looked at her when she reached in front of him for the forgotten shot and, without any hesitation, downed the whole thing. He raised his eyebrows at her, wondering if she expected him to stay or say something.

But he couldn't. This wasn't his place. Wasn't hers, either, and if her sister hear yelling up a storm was making her realize that then he should be relieved. Should be relieved if this girl didn't want to talk to him after her sister's obvious disapproval. So instead of saying anything, he fished in his pockets for his wallet. He'd brought a twenty with him, this time, and he tried not to think about how it was the last of his cash as he put it on the table between them and slid it over to her.

He felt the deja vu as he stood up from the stool, shrugging on his jacket. He half expected her to say something, ask him where he was going.

_Or maybe to stay._

But that was weak, and stupid besides, two things he couldn't be. So he didn't look her in the eye, didn't look in her direction at all as he walked out. All the damn tugs in the world wouldn't make him stay.

**Next chapter we're gonna get some background. And some Beth POV. **


	3. Chapter 3

**So okay yes I already suck and am behind. In my defense: finals. This chapter is nice and long to reward you for the wait. Big thanks for reviews, follows/favorites. A big kiss to you all. **

**I'm kind of making this up as I go along, so let's just see where it takes us, yeah? **

Leaving home wasn't something Beth had planned on doing.

She hadn't really been planning anything, truth be told, not since the funeral. Winging it, as it was, and not doing too good a job. This wasn't what she did, how she acted. She was Beth Greene, always smiling, dependable, reliable. Safe. Predicable. No one expected this from her, not even herself.

Especially not herself, if she was being real honest.

In the end, though, even for all that, leaving was easy. She had friends, disapproving as they were, who would take her in for the time being. Beth'd been right when she'd guessed that Sarah would be the last place her family would look. They'd used to be good friends, back in elementary, but a couple years ago she'd gotten herself pregnant and was now living alone on the outskirts of town where the term _redneck_ was an understatement. But she'd let Beth stay with her easily enough, offering her couch, understanding what it was to need to leave home. Just til she figured out what to do, she'd told Sarah. _Just til I find my feet._

And even that hadn't been hard. Earl'd been accommodating enough - maybe a little too much. He looked at her in a way she didn't like, and she wasn't sure if it was that or the tears she'd given him that had gotten her the job, but she guessed it didn't really matter. She had money coming in now, and she was paying her own way more than she ever had in the past. It was the most she had ever stepped out on her own - Beth Greene was used to being taken care of. She was a daddy's girl. She was a good Christian girl. She taught Sunday school classes. She was going to be a nurse.

She had never been Beth Greene, the alcoholic's daughter, the runaway, the bartender. Those things had just kinda happened.

Growing up a Greene didn't just come with a name. It had been a way of life. Church every single Sunday. Always be modest. Always say please and thank you and sir and ma'am. She'd memorized bible verses and church hymns before she could even understand what they meant, and as soon as they'd found out she could sing she'd been in the church choir. It was hard, sometimes, growing with this community where everyone knew your name. She'd spent a lot of her life wishing she could disappear.

And she guessed in a way that's exactly what she'd ended up doing.

So being back here to her house was more than weird, especially when it hadn't been her choice to be here in the first place. She hadn't expected Maggie to show up. It had been humiliating - if the entire bar hadn't thought she was a child before, they definitely did now.

And in front of Daryl, especially, right when she'd been making progress. She had learned his name from her coworkers, who'd known instantly who she was talking about. _Blue eyes, brown hair. Older. Leather vest_. Generic descriptions by themselves, but as soon as she'd mentioned the drug deal they'd given her a name. She didn't think she'd ever seen someone who just looked so _sad._ Defeated. Like he was already sure that what life was going to give him was just going to keep kicking him back down, but he stood back up anyways. And he had watched her curiously, too. She could see his judgement in his eyes: _this ain't your place_. He hadn't leered at her up and down like the other men had, at least, but he'd seen her fumble and blush and fall.

But he did more than _see _her. She felt those eyes every time they were on her, but it wasn't crude, and he never once called her _sweetheart_ with the gross condescension she had already gotten used to from the other patrons. He'd wanted to stay with her, earlier tonight, she could tell. She'd almost gotten a smile out of him. But that was before Maggie had come in and ruined it all, and now whatever whiffs of something unnamed she'd seen in him were gone.

All she'd wanted was to be somebody else. Here, where nobody knew who she was supposed to be or where she was supposed to be, she could be whoever she wanted. She didn't have to carry all the baggage of the name Beth Greene.

And there really was something in that sad face that looked trustworthy to her.

It didn't matter now, anyhow, she guessed. He'd walked out on her after Maggie left without a word, and she doubted she'd be able to get him to speak to her again. Not when Maggie had made such a bad impression for her.

She forgot about Daryl as she turned into the pathway at her mailbox, finally home. The gravel on the driveway spun up against her wheels, dinging against the door as she slowly drove forward. Had it really only been a week since she'd been home? The familiarity of it warred with a new alien feeling of not belonging. She knew this place like the back of her hand, from the third stair on the porch that creaked too loud to the upstairs window that you had to put your whole body against to open properly. But it felt new.

This hadn't been a good idea. She'd managed to grow some kind of backbone when she left - though not much, considering she'd gone in the middle of the night - but now she was spineless. Maybe she should turn around. Pretend she hadn't agreed to be there, and try to put it behind her.

She didn't see Maggie on the porch until her headlights hit her, illuminating her sister in bright yellow light. She uncrossed her arms at the sight of Beth's car, bringing a hand up to her forehead to shield herself against the light. Even blinded, she was scowling, and if Beth'd had any threads of a notion that Maggie would be glad to see her it was definitely gone now.

Beth didn't let herself look at her as she took the keys out of the ignition and hopped out, the gravel grinding against the heels of her boots. It was warm out, but still she shivered, looking down at her feet as she fisted her keys tightly in her hand. Escape route, if she needed it. She couldn't imagine anything about this going well.

Maggie didn't make any moves as Beth walked up the stairs to the porch, the wood thudding hollowly. The motion sensored light clicked on as Beth passed, painting them both in light. For a second, the only sound was the moths clicking against the light bulb, swarming in the heavy summer air. Beth said nothing, crossing her arms awkwardly before dropping them again, keeping her eyes trained somewhere around Maggie's feet.

"Awful late," Maggie said, leaning against the porch rail.

"I'm here, ain't I?" she muttered, but it sounded weak, her voice shaking as her eyes followed the lines between the white floorboards. The door was open, and she could hear noise from the TV through the screen. Could've been any other night, any other summer, crickets chirping loudly, frogs croaking from the pound nearby. She could smell food, too, which wasn't surprising; their mother had a habit of cooking through her anxiety. Any unpleasant family event they'd had in the past had also been their fullest. "Mama know I'm comin'?" she asked, uncomfortable. She decided on crossing her arms, hoping it would make her look stronger than she felt as she finally looked her sister in the eye.

Maggie nodded, but before she could say anything more the screen door opened. "Beth?"

Beth had just enough time to see her mom's face and a blur of graying brown hair before she was wrapped in a suffocating hug, the breath knocked out of her as her mom felt along her back and her head. She was released only long enough for her mom to look at her, putting her hands on either side of Beth's face and squeezing tightly, shaking her a little. Beth had no choice but to look her in the eye, see her tired face, how many years had been added to the deepened wrinkles at the corners of her teary eyes. Her hair was a mess, unwashed and unbrushed, and her clothes were wrinkled. She guiltily remembered what Maggie had told her. _Mama hasn't left her bed._

"Beth Greene, you'll be the death of us," she said, emphasizing each of her words with a sharp shake and then bringing her in to kiss her forehead and wrap her arms around her again. "Lord, have mercy."

She had been set on not crying, on not shedding a single tear, but that resolve was already weakening. She looked over her mother's shoulder at Maggie. She had the hints of a smile at the corners of her mouth as she watched the spectacle, but as soon as she met Beth's eye it was gone.

She couldn't blame her. Of all the things she felt guilty about, leaving her mother was the worst. She wanted to say sorry, to cry, but nothing would come. She felt herself turning to stone, this hug too tight, the air too warm. A deep anxiety was nagging at her stomach, churning with guilt at being back here. She forced herself to return the hug, but couldn't ignore how awkward and fake it felt and quickly put her hands back by her sides.

If her mama noticed anything wrong, she wasn't acting it. "Come in, come in, I made food," she said as she stepped back, opening the door and standing to let Beth in.

"Don't think she's hungry, Mama," Maggie said, stalking past Beth into the house. "She's all grown up now. Probably has a hot meal waitin' at home, don't ya?"

Beth didn't answer, too busy trying not to panic as she stepped over into the threshold of their house. Memories were hitting her left and right painfully, making her wince. Even just on the door frame were scattered pencil marks and dates notching her and her sibling's heights as the years had gone one. Biscuits and country ham and gravy were on the table, looking like Sunday dinner, and her father's chair sat conspicuously empty at the head of the table. Shaun was sitting on the couch in the living room, looking near death was exhaustion over at them as they entered the kitchen. He didn't stand up, but Beth guessed she hadn't exactly expected him to. She hadn't said goodbye to him, either.

"Sit, sit," her mother was saying, pulling out Beth's old chair to the left her father's.

"I can't," Beth tried to say, but it came out as a croak, her throat dry with the same nerves that were making her palms left. She held onto the strap of her purse, pulling it along her shoulder to keep it tight. "I can't stay, Mama," she said again, and at least this time she was audible.

"What do you mean, y'can't stay? Of course you're stayin'." She flashed a look at Maggie. "Tell your sister she's staying."

"I'm not," she repeated, flexing her fingers along the strap. Her stomach was a mess of nerves and anxiety, a pit of panic growing deeper by the second as she avoided her mother's face entirely. "I'm only here so y'all know I'm alright." Shaun had stood up by now, leaning against the door frame between the kitchen and the living room. "And to apologize for leavin' like I did."

"Beth," her mother said reproachfully, the earlier happiness and relief replaced by stark sternness in the snap of a second. "You are stayin'. That's final."

It wasn't Maggie that pitched in, but Shaun. "Beth, come on," he said, and he sounded as tired as her mother looked. "I know you're upset about -" he choked off, drawing her eyes to him. He ran his hands over his face, pushing his hair back. It was in desperate need of a trim, and the stubble all on his cheeks and chin told her he hadn't been shaving. "We're all upset."

"Upset?" she asked incredulously, stepping back from them and crossing her arms. "Y'all all knew he had a drinkin' problem, ya knew he was drinkin' again -" she was crying again and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Her mom was, too, her hand over her mouth, and even Maggie had turned away. She didn't need to say the rest, how much they'd hidden from her.

Beth hadn't known about any of it until it was too late. She hadn't known her father was an alcoholic, wouldn't ever even have dreamed of it. But they had known, and had decided not to tell it. Protecting her, they thought.

Except for he had started drinking again. They told her he was stressed, and Annette had noticed a few nips here and there - they'd been running into some money problems lately, which she hadn't known either - but that they hadn't known it was a problem again.

Until he had a stroke.

And now he was dead.

And she hadn't known anything. She felt like a dumb little girl. Maybe she could've helped. Maybe she could've talked to him, or seen something in him.

But she hadn't, and it was their fault.

"I can't be here," she said, looking at his empty seat. And suddenly, she really couldn't be here, couldn't be in this room, in this house, in this place that reeked of memories and pain and loss. All she could see was that empty seat, and all she could feel was the disappointment and anger radiating from everyone in this house that still felt empty.

So she left. Turned on her heel and walked out without a word while they were scrambling, like Daryl had left her at that bar. She made it to her car before Maggie called after her.

"Beth, wait," she said, and when Beth kept on walking she jogged down the porch steps, her shoes _thud-thud-thudding_ and making Beth move even faster.

"You promised you wouldn't make me stay, Maggie," she said without turning around, reaching her car and fumbling with her keys for a second before unlocking them.

"And you said you would talk."

"I said I would come. I didn't say anythin' 'bout talkin'," she answered with one foot in the door. She was being childish, she knew, but she couldn't stand to be here for even a second longer. She thought she might explode. She climbed into her seat and slammed the door, the plastic covering the window shaking. She didn't even buckle up before she had turned the keys in the ignition and thrown the car into reverse, looking out over her shoulder so she wouldn't have to see her sister as she zipped out of the driveway.

She'd been driving about 20 minutes before it happened: the car began to sputter, and she realized, belatedly, that she couldn't remember the last time she'd put gas in. The little tick that was meant to tell her when she was low was broken, but she hadn't been keeping track. Even if she had, she didn't had the money, not yet, the dollars in tips she'd gotten going towards paying her way.

"Nonono," she moaned, hitting the steering wheel with her fist and pumping the gas pedal. It was all for nothing, though, her car ignoring her as it rolled to a gentle stop, barely giving her enough time to pull to the side of the road.

She didn't have any gas on her. Her daddy had always warned her never to drive out when it was too low - these roads were long and cell signal was always spotty - but she hadn't listened.

Thinking of her father only pushed the tears already at the backs of her eyes outward. She rubbed at them with the heel of her hand, her sister's words echoing in her head. _All grown up now_. But she didn't feel grown at all. She felt alone, more isolated than ever before. She took out her phone, but sure enough didn't have any bars. She wasn't sure who she could call, anyways.

_Alone_.

She got out of the car, slamming the door behind her. She missed her father. She missed what life had been just a couple weeks ago, missed that blanket of security that she hadn't even realized she'd always had nestled around her. She looked heavenward. "You're tryin' to tell me runnin' off was reckless, right?" she asked, looking at the sky above her. Hundreds of stars blinked back down at her, unmarred by any light pollution. Not a single one gave her an answer. "Well, I already knew that," she muttered to herself, digging a hole in the dirt with her toe.

What to do? She looked at the road left and right. She thought there might've been a gas station on down the road a ways, but she couldn't be sure - she wasn't used to taking this way home. And even if there was, she had no way of carrying any gas. But there might be signal there. At least that would be a start.

In the distance, she heard the low guttural noise of a motorcycle coming up the road. She crossed her arms instinctively, huddling her shoulders and facing towards her car. At least it was only one bike she heard, and not many, but she was suddenly aware that she was a young girl stranded with no help in sight. She went to get back into the car, but before she could get the door open the bike was already rounding the curve of the road near her car. She fisted the pepper spray on her keychain as she heard the bike come to a stop, not turning around. This night couldn't really get much worse. All the signs were pointing towards her whole homeless plan being a giant mistake. Maybe she should've stayed home.

"Beth?"

She turned around at the sound of her name, her shoulders still tense with fear. She squinted in the dark, and it took a second to even realize who it was. Daryl, from the bar. It was a bizarre merging of worlds; he seemed weirdly out of place outside of the bar. She half expected him to have a beer in one hand.

"What are you doin' here?" she asked him, crossing her arms. She still had the pepper spray in one hand - she still didn't really _know _him, after all - but she felt her grip relaxing.

"What're you doin'?" he asked her, still on his bike.

Of all the cliches, him finding her with a gasless car on the side of the road had to be one of the worst. "My car-" she started to say, but changed her sentence midcourse, not wanting to tell him it had been her being irresponsible that got her here. "It broke down."

He looked around, an awkward quiet settling between them. "Got a ride comin'?" he finally said.

She wished she could see better. At least the night was clear enough that she could see his face. She considered lying - how often was she going to look hopelessly clueless in front of him? - but then shook her head. "No," she said, defeated. "I don't have any signal."

He looked away as he nodded. "Kinda late."

"You're out, too," she pointed out, but he didn't answer, and it was quiet once more. He seemed distinctly uncomfortable, and she began to wonder why he had stopped at all. Besides, he must have known where she had been. He had heard Maggie. "I had that whole thing with my sister."

"Right." He leaned back before looking at her again. "Need a ride?"

* * *

He had recognized the girl's car from the parking lot of the bar, an old Jeep Wrangler. She'd been standing outside of her car, but without the streetlight there he wasn't sure he would've been able to see her at all. It was late, close to two, so he had stopped.

And now he was offering her a ride home.

"You don't gotta do that," she said. She looked tired, like she'd been crying. It made it hard for him to look at her.

He shrugged, trying to think of what to say. The silences were hitting them like punches tonight. "Suit yourself," he said, but before he could move she'd stepped up.

"Why'd you stop?" she asked him.

He frowned. "You don't really seem to know what you're doin'."

It was true, but he didn't know why he'd said it. She reacted poorly, her head cocking defensively.

"You haven't even told me your name," she told him, glancing at the bike and scrunching her nose in distaste. "I don't know anythin' about you 'cept you might do drugs and you don't like tequila."

He looked down, fading fast. "All I know 'bout you is you don't know shit about your job and you're reckless enough to walk home alone." He made a show of looking down the road, shrugging. "Bout five miles to the gas station, if you wanna walk. Be my guest. I ain't the one who said you could trust me."

He kicked up the kickstand pointedly, giving her a last look with eyebrows raised.

She looked down the road nervously, rolling forward to the balls of her feet a couple times before pursing her lips and taking a big step over to him. "You know where Garden Park neighborhood is?"

He nodded, suddenly tense. He hadn't thought this through, and now it occurred to him that he was actually going to have to give her a ride. There was that tugging on his chest, pulling his heart down into his stomach_. _He scooted forward a bit, giving her some room.

She hesitated, looking at the seat he was offering. "No helmet?"

"Better hope I don't crash." He faced forward, fingers flexing over the handle. "Think you can handle that, Blondie?"

She didn't answer, instead putting her hand on his shoulder as she swung her leg over the seat. She nestled in close to him, the toes of her boots edging along the gravel as she pushed her arms firmly around his waist, her hands warm through his shirt before she fisted the fabric. "I'm ready," she said, her legs squeezing his hips as she pressed her cheek into his back.

He stepped the bike over to the road, her fingers spreading out as the bike lurched forward. He waited before moving anymore, looking over his shoulder to see the top of her head, blonde hair peeking out of its ponytail. She turned her head to him when they didn't move, resting her chin on his shoulder, looking at him expectantly. Even just under the fluorescence of the streetlight, the blue of her eyes caught him off guard. "Name's Daryl," he managed to get out, his stomach dripping low.

She smiled, the corners of her eyes wrinkling. "I know," she said. "I asked one of the other girls."

He faced back to the road, her arms clenching into him in anticipation. He twisted the throttle, the bike lurching forward. She squealed, the sound whisked away as the wind whipped past them. Her body was a vice around his, every inch of her tense. When they went around the curve, she pressed her whole face into his back, hiding, the tips of her fingers digging between his ribs. But the further he drove, the more he felt her relax against him, her hands not clenched quite so tight.

Not comfortable, maybe, but not scared like he might've guessed she'd be.

He knew where the girl was talking about, a shittier part of town. The neighborhoods here were few and far between, and easy to identify by name. Garden Park could hardly be called a neighborhood; it was a group of mobile homes. He wouldn't've guessed it of her. He had grown up in a place like it, and it definitely wasn't for girls like her.

The ride wasn't a long one. She tugged on his shirt when he turned off the main road and onto the small cul de sac, and then pointed towards the one he wanted to drop her off at. He toed the ground as they came to a stop. She got off as soon as they were steady, gripping him tighter as she swung her foot around. She stumbled a little when she got on solid ground, then faced him.

"Thanks," she said, then paused. "I really ain't this big of a mess up, I swear."

"Believe it when I see it," he said, looking at the home behind her. Wasn't his business. Girl wasn't his business. Bigger fish to fry. So why was he even here?

"I'll show you, then," she said, sass in her voice. "I'll see you later, then?"

Not like there was a lot he could do about that, so he nodded. She smiled at him again before turning around and walking up to the door, fumbling with the keys for a second before going inside. As soon as the door closed behind her, he thought he could hear a baby crying.

Huh. A baby might've explained a couple things, if it was hers. A lot of families started that way here.

Just cuz she was pretty didn't mean she was immune.

**Okay, this is an AU so I'm allowed to do a little twist on canon, right? Right. Had to get Beth out of that house somehow. Also forgive me if I messed up any bike stuff. I have never ridden a motorcycle in my life and am a fraud, basically. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Late again, yes, but I do believe I'll have a chapter up this weekend. Hugs all around. This one's a bit short, but I hope you'll see where I'm going with it. **

It was almost four before Daryl made it back from dropping the girl off. He could hear the TV on before he even unlocked the door of his apartment room, which more than likely meant that Merle was still awake. Or at least in the living room, which would maybe get Daryl his room back. He'd spent too many nights sleeping on his own fucking couch. Wasn't even a good couch, but the actual owners of the place were gone and Merle had got the keys from them somehow - Merle could be persuasive, kindly or not - and were letting them pay weekly. Better than nothing. But considering it was Daryl who was making those weekly payments, he would've liked to get the bed sometimes.

Sure enough, when he opened the door he was greeted by the sight of Merle. He was alive, which was something. Could be worse. His wifebeater was yellowing, and if he got his ass off the couch Daryl was pretty sure there would be a stain there. The air was heavier in here than it had been outside, thick with sweat and heat and the smell of skunked beer that lay in bottles littered around the couch. He stayed near the door for a second, but he couldn't hear anyone else besides the TV, male or female.

Neither of them said anything as Daryl walked slowly forward, but Merle's eyes were on him as he tossed his keys onto the coffee table. They skidded along its surface until they dropped with a clink to the floor at Merle's feet.

"Awful late," Merle said, leaning back against the couch with his feet up on the table, remote in his hand. He at least looked sober now, his eyes more alert and alive than Daryl had seen in the last couple days. They wrinkled as he smiled lewdly, the only way he seemed to be able to smile. "Look like you've been chewed up and spit right back out."

"Brought more beer," he grunted, ignoring him and holding up the 6 pack of beer he had bought from the gas station on the corner just a few minutes ago. Peace offering, to help ease the guilt of the little pack of pills that weighed heavy in his shirt pocket, feeling hard against his chest. He'd never given them. Had passed off some lie about the dealer not showing. It hadn't been too big a deal, not at first when Merle'd been too drunk or high or maybe both to tell what he'd been saying. But his stash had dried up since then, and now he was dealing with that lie.

Merle snorted. "'Bout damn time. Dry as dirt over here, brother."

Sober. Was he ever sober anymore? But he didn't look high. He looked irritated, his fingers flexing over and over again on the bottle he was already holding in one hand, his leg bouncing with his tapping foot. He rolled his neck, cracking it loudly.

Daryl hesitated before putting the bottles on the table, too, but Merle didn't move for them. He stood back up straight, stretching his shoulders and lost as to what to do. He knew his brother, at least better than anyone else, but this was still tricky. Like diffusing a bomb except knowing that even if you cut the right one all you were getting was a smaller explosion.

"Maybe you could shower," he said, standing there and looking at the mess that was his brother. He'd have to peel him off that goddamn couch, maybe throw him in the bathroom and sit outside the door til he'd washed off at least some of the smell. Wouldn't be the first time he'd been reduced to babysitter.

But that had been the wrong damn wire to cut. He knew it before the words were even out of his mouth.

"Don't like the way I smell?" Merle asked, and from his tone Daryl could tell shit was going to start whether he liked it or not. Merle stood up, dropping the bottle in his hand, letting the yellow liquid spill and fizz onto the floor. He wasn't just cranky, Daryl could see now. He wanted to fight. Should've sensed that as soon as he walked through the door.

"Easy," he said quietly. Not standing up straight. Allowing himself to shrink, just a little bit, to be small, because anything else might've lead to punches being thrown and more furniture being broken and maybe Merle would leave and Daryl would be by himself again. The tension was thick, rolling off both of them in waves that broke against his shoulders, splashing him in nerves. He didn't want to fight. But he would, if Merle made him.

But then Merle smiled, clasping his brother on the shoulder before collapsing back onto the couch again. "Don't get yer panties all in a bunch," he groaned reaching for the remote and clicking the volume of the tv back on, settling his feet back on the table.

Daryl relaxed. The bomb hadn't been detonated, at least for now. He walked to get one of the beers he had bought, bending over to snap the top off using the edge of the table. Two brothers drinking beer. Could've been normal, if they even had a normal anymore.

He was about to sit down to join him, but it wasn't until Daryl heard the moans that he realized it was porn Merle was watching, classless plastic girls all over each other, all kinds of loud, unnatural noises coming from their mouths. Daryl thought briefly about picking that fight, just changing the channel or turning the whole TV off, but quickly decided against it, crossing in front of the couch to go into the bedroom instead. If he didn't figure out where to get the money to pay next week's stay he wouldn't have to worry about the TV at all.

He stopped at the doorway, looking back at his brother. He was already out of awareness, his eyes glazed over, the remote slipping out of his limp hand. Even keeping him in sight, Daryl was losing him. "Could go out tomorrow," he suggested suddenly, the words out of his mouth before he could think them through. "Better'n drinkin' here." Maybe getting him out of his apartment would make him forget about the pills. Cool off without disappearing, either physically or within himself. Find a girl that didn't have to be paid for at the end of the night.

It seemed to take a second before the words registered, but then Merle licked his lips and looked at him. He was cast in blue light from the TV, making it harder to read his face. But then he smiled, nodding his head. "That's what I'm talkin' about, baby brother. Time to put the 'dicks' in 'Dixon' to use," he groaned, stretching his arms behind his head and looking back at the TV.

Daryl let himself smile, some of the tension is his torso easing out. Because at least there was some kind of a plan, something to erase the monotony of the days. He went into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him to help muffle the TV. The bed was a mess in front of him, but otherwise the room was bare. He stripped all the sheets off, trying not to look at them or think about what might be on them as he dropped them to the floor. He didn't have any replacements, so he fell straight onto the mattress, the springs squeaking and pressing right up against his back under the thin fabric. Shitty bed. Shitty apartment. Shitty building. Just shitty.

It had occurred to him that there were certain benefits to doing things Merle's way, to staying off the books and off the tracks. Merle had connections, Daryl could at least give him that, and before he had really dropped low with the drugs he'd always been able to scrounge up some place to crash. Daryl had only been paying rent for two months but it was already sucking him dry. He'd been doing little pickup jobs around town, mostly helping out with landscaping on some of the nicer places, but it was nothing steady. He couldn't deny that he was struggling, and as much as he didn't want to see it, the only solution he could think of was staring him in the face. He'd thought of it when he'd been riding back.

He would have to sell his bike. Was nice. Would make him money, a couple grand maybe, enough to sustain both of them for the time being. But just the thought of it being gone twisted something inside of him so hard that his fingers twitched into a fist on the bed.

He leaned forward onto his elbows when Merle kicked the door open, the door knob making a notch into the drywall as it thudded.

"Gotta piss so bad my eyeballs are floatin'," he said by way of explanation, flicking the light of the bathroom on. He didn't bother to shut the door all the way, and Daryl closed his eyes again against the sound of piss.

Shitty.

It was hard to remember, sometimes, why he was doing this. Why he didn't let Merle just disappear. Give him the pills. But that couldn't happen, because Merle had said it himself: they were a pair. Dixon through and through, brothers til the end. A name that Daryl had learned to own, even when it didn't do him any good. Because what was he without it? What did he have going for him? Seven bucks and a mattress someone else had been throwing out?

So he would sell the bike, the same bike Blondie had clutched him so hard on just hours ago. Little No-Last-Name Beth, who maybe might've had a baby. The thought was comforting, in some weird fucked up way, because he kind of felt like they were even - could a drug deal and a teen pregnancy be rated equal, in the world of fucked over things? - like maybe he'd be able to look her in the eye when she asked about Merle.

He guessed he'd find out soon enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**About twice as long as the last one, and on time still. Thanks to my beta MollyMayhem84 even though I also hate her because she's worse at updating than I am. **

If Daryl thought about it, it would've made for an easier night if Blondie hadn't been here. But he'd been weirdly relieved when his eyes had found her back behind the bar, already kind of used to her being there. What had it been, a couple days he'd known her? But here he was, already a couple beers deep. He'd gotten paid today for laying some landscaping brick at some nice apartment complex, and him and Merle had been making good use of that money.

Well. They were making use of it, anyways.

He was trying to stay away from the girl. Didn't like how often her face had come on his mind. How many thoughts had been given to wondering about that baby crying, about that place he'd left her, about issues it was that she kept on alluding to but wouldn't give up. It'd been easy with Merle here. Had played some pool. Drank too much for someone who owed money. But now Merle had left him in the hopes of gaining the attention of one of the waitresses, and Daryl was alone.

It was minutes before Beth had come up to where he sat at the corner of the bar. He tried not to make anything of it. She was just doing her job. So then why had she waited until he was alone?

"Didn't expect you to come back, if we're bein' honest," she said, no preamble.

He sighed, not quite sure what to make of her. He guessed they were being honest. "I've been comin' here longer'n you, Blondie."

"I know that," she said, and paused with pursed lips, seeming to think about her next words. "Just after Maggie and all. I've been meanin' to say sorry for all that. She didn't mean it."

"Didn't mean what?"

"Just what she said. 'Bout hangin' out with grown men," she explained, stuttering over her words and blushing red. "She's just mad at me."

"Gathered as much," he said, amused at her fumbling. He wanted to ask again what that had been about, why she was here where she so obviously didn't belong - not just like two pieces that wouldn't fit together, but like she was part of a completely different puzzle - but she'd failed to answer any of the times he'd asked, and it was occurring to him that maybe there was a reason she was keeping quiet. That if she wanted to tell him, she would.

"You brought your brother," she commented, seeming relieved to change the subject as she nodded towards where Merle was leaning heavily over the bar talking to the waitress who clearly wasn't giving him the time of day.

He looked at Merle, debating on how much to tell her. "Gettin' restless. Don't do too good holed up."

"Were you keepin' him holed up?" she asked, setting a glass in front of him and pouring the whiskey in. She'd gotten it right this time, her hands already more practiced and steady as she traded his empty beer for the drink. She hadn't seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion about asking questions, but he found he didn't mind as much as he normally might. Something was making him want to answer.

"Nah. Can't really keep Merle from doin' what he wants to do."

"So you're, what? Just along for the ride?"

"I guess," he answered shortly, leading them into a silence.

"I don't believe that," she said lightly after a second, giving him a small smile. "It wasn't him out at three in the mornin' givin' me a ride."

He wanted to bring up the drugs, just to throw her off and see if she really was just as happy as she seemed, because she couldn't just keep _smiling_ at him like that without seeing exactly what she was smiling for. But she'd seen the drugs, seen the deal go down right in front of her, and she didn't strike him as naive. Not naive, no. Because she was working here, because she was living in one of the shittiest parts of town, because she knew enough to deal with Ray.

But _hopeful_. Happy, even for knowing all of that and for being here and maybe even with a damn kid. So he decided to let her smile.

Her attention was called to the other side of the bar, and she left him with another brief smile. He watched her leave, lingering at where her shorts cut off before making himself look away. He remembered all of a sudden what her sister had looked at him, so disgusted. _Not like that_.

Merle slid into the seat next to him, grumbling and looking put out. "Thought you said drinkin' here would be better."

"No luck?" Daryl asked. On one hand a girl might offer some distraction. On the other he wasn't too keen on being kicked out of his own room again for the night.

"Bitch's got her nose so up in the air she's likely to drown if it rains, I'll tell ya that much," he grumbled, confirming that he'd struck out. "Who's the legs?" he asked, nodding towards Beth.

Daryl shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Dunno," he answered.

But he kept looking at her in a way that gave him dejavu from Ray, stirring him to hit Merle's shoulder with his own. It happened a little harder than he meant for it to, nearly making Merle slide out of his seat.

Merle looked at him incredulously, eyes flicking from Daryl to the girl and back again. Daryl shifted, looking down at his drink. If there was one thing he and his brother shared it was an eye for the details, and he'd already fucked up being normal. He smiled in a way Daryl didn't like at all, seeming to rest on a conclusion. "You sweet on her?"

"Pfft," Daryl gave by way of answer. _Not like that_. It was becoming a mantra in his head.

But that seemed to damn him even more in Merle's eyes. "Has my little baby brother got himself a crush on a girl?" he asked, then looked at Beth again with appraising eyes. "Easy on the eyes, too."

"Ain't like that," he said, blood rushing to his cheeks at even the suggestion.

"Sayin' she ain't pretty?" Merle asked, turning those appraising eyes to Daryl instead.

He shrugged halfheartedly. "She's alright."

Merle leaned back, but then smiled, showing yellow teeth. He turned back towards the bar, resting his elbow on the bar to hold his hand out. "Hey dollface," he called out.

Beth looked back at them, smiling again and holding up her hand in a _one second_ gesture before finishing up the drink she was already making. Daryl couldn't think of a single thing to stop this introduction from happening. Couldn't even pin down exactly why he was dreading it, why he was considering pushing his brother all the way out of his seat before she could get here.

But then she was in front of them. Daryl was looking anywhere but at her, his foot bouncing on his seat.

"Got a name, sugar?" Merle asked. "Don't mind my brother here, he gets all kinds of shy 'round pretty girls."

Daryl shot Merle a brutal side-eye that he was sure only would've egged him on if he had been looking in the first place.

"Beth," she answered him, sweetness still in her voice. "You must be Merle."

He snickered, his whole body shifting forward on the stool to lean closer on the bar. "My reputation do precede me. Hear somethin' 'bout me you were fond of, sweetheart?"

He was doing this to fuck with him, Daryl was 90 percent sure. But his hand still tightened to a fist on his leg. This wasn't funny. Didn't even really feel too much like a game.

"Somethin' like that," she said, still so sweet that it was almost hard to detect an undercurrent of something more sharp. "You ask me over here to stare or to get a drink?"

Daryl smiled to himself, thinking of when she'd snapped her hand away from Ray that first night. She'd surprised him again. There was a split second silence before Merle laughed. "Got a mouth on ya, doll. Gimme whatever my brother's got. Be sure to put it on his tab."

Daryl didn't look up until she had walked away. He downed his drink before looking at Merle. "Gotta be an asshole all the time?"

"Just my nature, brother. This why we out here tonight? Wanna make eyes at Barbie Girl herself?"

"Shut up," he said, hand tightening on his glass.

"Y'know, if you wanted to go fishin' all ya had to do was ask," he said. "Didn't need to go get yourself some jailbait. Even jailbait as fine as this one."

"Don't be a jackass," Daryl muttered. "Ain't like that."

"You can say it all you want, baby brother. That don't make it so," he said, looking around. His eyes froze on something over Daryl's shoulder, his smile falling, recognition and then anger taking its place. "Hold on. Got business to tend to," he said, offering no further explanation before shoving his beer in Daryl's chest.

Daryl turned to watch him go, sure that something was about to go down. He put his and Merle's drink on the bar, ready to get up and stop whatever was happening, but Beth's voice stopped him.

"You gonna be able to get home tonight?" she was asking, drawing his attention and his eyes back to her.

He was really feeling those drinks now, feeling it in the flood of sensations instead of rational thought when he looked at her. "We'll make do. Always have."

"You gave me a ride. Wouldn't mind returnin' the favor."

"No," he said, loud and firm. No, this girl would not drop him off at a fucking hotel. She'd seen Merle. That was enough for one night.

She looked taken aback, but recovered well. "Just offerin'. Be closing soon anyhow."

"Gotta get home to the kid, right?" he asked, swirling the ice around his cup. He was still watching Merle, but he was distracted now, too, looking back at the girl because he couldn't quite seem to make his eyes stay away.

"Kid?" she questioned, her forehead wrinkling in confusion.

"That baby you got," he mumbled, thinking while he eyed her. What was she _doing_ here, especially if there was a kid at home? Where had he dropped her off? Was there some baby daddy in that trailer?

"What?" she asked, blinking at him. "I don't have a baby."

"Not what I heard," he insisted, louder than he meant to, Merle almost completely forgotten. This seemed more pressing all of a sudden, not whatever fool's fight his brother was getting into.

"You heard wrong," she insisted, but she was smiling as she tilted her head. "What's it to you if I did, anyhow?"

He shrugged. "Nothin'." But then he frowned, sliding his glass along the bar to his other hand, catching it back and forth as he looked at her. "It wasn't yours?"

"No," she laughed, her cheeks pink, hair falling out where she'd had it tucked behind her ear. "The girl I'm stayin' with, she got herself into some trouble a couple years back."

_Merle was right. She's pretty_, he thought, clear and tangible among the fuzzyness everything else had turned into. "Don't seem like you're doin' much better," he said, and he was thankful that his words weren't betraying him.

The smile disappeared, but her cheeks stayed pink. "I don't think trouble is the right word for what's been goin' on."

And he was interested again, because maybe now he would find out what this girl's problem was, because there was no way she was as perfect as she seemed. Maybe now she wanted to tell him. But before he could break his own rule and ask her, prod her on to tell him things he had no business knowing, he heard Merle's voice from across the bar, loud and arrogant. He looked towards the noise, already filled with apprehension at what kind of scene he could possibly have caused in the five minutes since he'd separated. Merle was chest to chest with some guy Daryl didn't recognize, both of them red in the face, fists tight.

"That doesn't look good," he heard Beth say, but he didn't answer, sighing inwardly. He downed his drink before standing up, his legs a little shaky. He was more drunk than he'd realized, the floor far from solid under his feet. Before he could even orient himself all the way, though, he heard the familiar sound of a punch landing. He looked up to see Merle still standing, shaking out his right hand, but the guy that had been close to him earlier was now reeling backwards. Before he had recovered Merle was stalking forward, grabbing him by the lapels of his vest and headbutting him, hollering when he fell.

Another guy, this one bald and stocky, had stepped forward into the fray, but by that time Daryl had reached him. Daryl grabbed baldie by the back of his shirt, yanking him backwards before he could reach Merle. Even drunk, Daryl didn't want to get into this fight. He'd spent years getting into every fight Merle had started, throwing punches, more than a few knuckles and ribs broken. But Merle's last stint of absence had been a break from all of that, and Daryl found himself more reluctant than ever to get back into it.

So when Baldy turned around to face him, instead of beating him to the punch, he braced himself, eyeing the fist that was already being aimed at him, trying to judge what was coming. He'd learned how to take a punch, how to let his body fall; it was all just a matter of . He tucked his chin in instinctively, hoping the punch would mishit onto his forehead instead, but no such luck - his fist connected hard with his cheek, and he could practically feel as the skin split open. Daryl blinked, his hearing nothing but blood rushing through his ears, but it was only a second until the next hit landed, this time a roundhouse punch to his mouth. He tried to roll with it, letting his body turn, but his foot got caught on the leg of a stool. He fell hard, barely catching himself on his forearms before his face met the wood of the floor. The stool he had tripped on crashed next to him, and he could hear Beth yelp.

He grabbed the leg of the stool, swinging it up off the ground and into the sides of the knees of Baldy, knocking his feet out from under him and making him crumple to the floor. His head smacked against the wood, dazing him and giving Daryl an opportunity to roll onto his stomach and get up on his knees. He looked around for Merle, cursing under his breath when he found him punching the first guy into floor. He got to his feet, keeping the inertia of the motion going to tackle Merle, launching them both onto the floor before Merle could do anymore damage.

But he was up again in seconds, feverish anger all over his tense muscles and tendons. A couple other guys were on him, pulling him back before Daryl could even get breath back in him. The whole last five minutes was catching up slowly to him. Did he even know what started it? He guessed it didn't matter. He was more out of practice from this than he'd thought.

He opened his eyes when he felt small hands on him, only to find Beth kneeling above him. Worry and fear was all over her face, dimmed out by the lamp hanging above her head. He was reminded of a halo for a second, shrouded in light, but the sight of her was enough to remind him of what was happening even now. He got clumsily to his feet, ready to jump back into the fray, but Merle was already being pushed back and away. The guy he'd been punching was still on the floor, clearly unconscious, and the waitress he'd been talking to earlier had come to stand between them.

Daryl moved to stand next to his brother, adrenaline and anger and loyalty mixed with something else pumping through him, but then the waitress spoke.

"Outside!" she ordered, pointing at the door and looking at Merle with disdain on her face. "Cool off."

He shook off from the guys that had been holding him, looking around the room. Recovering. "Ain't the one pitchin' a hissy fit," he muttered, face still red with exertion. He leaned around the girl to look at Daryl, but when he saw Beth standing near him seemed to swallow his words. "My deepest apologies, sweetheart," he said, insincerity and sarcasm dripping from the words as he bowed his head. He nudged the man on the floor with his foot, still out cold. "Sunnofabitch deserved it," he said before walking out the exit, bell ringing behind him.

It was quiet in his absence. The waitress rubbed her forehead, looking around at the disarray before looking at Daryl and then at Beth. He hadn't realized what he'd been doing, how his arm had somehow ended up across the girl's body. He dropped it immediately, trying to survey the damage. "Sorry-" he started, trying to think of how to word the thousandth apology he'd made on behalf of Merle, but he was cut off.

"Don't bring him back here, alright? I don't need anymore addicts in here. Earl's gonna be pissed enough as it is."

His pride rippled, but he stifled it into a nod. One more place Merle couldn't go, one more enemy made. He couldn't even look at Beth, the reality of the situation settling in on him, but she held no such reservations, taking him by the wrist and leading him back to the bar.

"Sit down," she said, casual as ever, patting a stool before grabbing a wet cloth off of one of the tables. "You've got blood on you."

He looked towards the door that Merle had gone through, trying to make some kind of decision, but without really even meaning to he was sitting where she'd told him. The waitress looked at the overturned furniture and the man still unconscious on the floor before giving up and going to the back. The only two buddies left of the guy on the floor dragged him to his feet, helping him out the door and leaving them alone.

"He shouldn't've gotten you into that," she said reproachfully as she sat down next to him, ringing out the rag so that water dripped steadily onto the floor before turning her body so she was facing him. "Surprised you didn't start swingin' back."

"Yeah," he muttered in response. It'd been hard, learning how and when to take a punch instead of dealing them back. But they couldn't keep punching their way through Georgia, not when their list of enemies was as long as it was, and it wasn't likely that Merle would step up. So it fell on him, literally, to stay down.

But she didn't need to know any of that.

"Stay still," she said, bringing the cloth up onto his mouth. The cloth snagged at his busted lip, making him flinch away. She tutted, putting her hand on the side of his face and bringing him back to her. "You'd think you'd never been punched before," she muttered, palm hot on his cheek, her eyes on his mouth as she pressed a little harder.

"Think I get hit a lot?" he asked, moving from her hand so he could speak more clearly, watching her face as she flushed a deep cherry.

"No," she muttered, looking down before meeting his eyes. "Just kinda seemed to be expectin' it, is all." She frowned, her blue eyes sincere as she gave a little half shrug. "Didn't mean anythin' by it."

He looked at her for an instant longer. He'd noticed she was pretty, but that kind of information was useless to him, filed away under _miscellaneous_. Now, though, so close, he was kind of forced to look at her, the dark ring of blue around her irises melting into green and gold, how smooth her skin was, the way her eyebrows arched as she raised them at him, the peachy pink of her lips as she smiled slightly. He looked back down, distinctly aware now of how close her knees were to his, how close she was in general, how his back was to a wall and this room was too small and he shouldn't have even been here in the first place.

She put two fingers on his chin, coaxing him back up to look at her. She was glancing over him clinically, brow furrowed as she lightly touched his cheek. It already stung, but he didn't move, glued in place by a low panic that was beating through his blood and her touch pinning him down. But maybe not in a way that he minded, not if he was being pinned like this with featherlight touches as she flaked away the dried blood on his jaw.

"Think he's alright out there?" she asked.

No. But he wasn't going out there, either. "He's lickin' his wounds like he needs to. Talkin' to him now'll just piss him off more." That much was true.

She paused with the rag, leaning back to look him in the eye. "You really care about him, don't you?"

He shrugged, unable to maintain her gaze, not when she was looking at him like that. So intensely full of understanding and sympathy but not pity. Not like she was sorry for him, for his brother, for his messy drugged up brother, or asking why or how he could still care. It was a relief that he didn't know he'd needed. He wanted her to keep giving him that look.

"My daddy, he was an alcoholic," she said, voice soft as the touch of her hand. "I didn't know about it, not 'til after, but I don't think it would've changed how I felt about him. Family's family."

That explained the understanding. He searched for words, but really words were just bullshit anyways, so he settled on something simple. "Sorry."

She smiled sadly, her eyes on his, not even blinking. She got closer, and he could smell her now, something sweet but clean, her hair falling over her shoulder around her face so that all he could see was her, and he felt even more trapped than before. "He really got you," she said quietly, and her gaze leaped from his cheek to his eyes. "Gonna be bruised bad tomorrow," she added, but it was quieter this time, light breaths hitting his chin.

He wanted to speak, could feel the words and maybe her name in his throat, but they got caught somewhere along the way and all he was able to do was grunt. He didn't really understand what this was, what exactly was happening, but then her hand dropped so her fingertips were on his knee, and a little bit more understanding hit him in his stomach. It felt like he was starving all of a sudden, empty. Blood rushed through his veins in a way that wasn't entirely bad, his skin hot with alcohol and with her. He felt those fingers not just on his knees, but everywhere, her touch radiating all over his skin, and his heart beat just a little bit faster. She was only an inch or two away, but still he couldn't move. It was a wrench thrown in his system, feeling trapped but pulled in place, wanting to stand and walk away and never stop but also kinda feeling like maybe sitting here wasn't the worst place he could be. That there could be a lot of worse places, that he really couldn't think of many places that were better.

When she finally leaned forward, he was almost expecting it. It was kind of a lurch, a little awkward in its suddenness as her hand spread fully on his leg and her forehead rested against his, their noses bumping. They were only like that for a second before her lips touched his, and he wasn't sure if she had kissed him or if he had been the one to close that space but it didn't really matter because she was kissing him, those peachy lips pushing against his.

His lip stung where she touched them, and he still tasted blood and whiskey in his mouth that he worried briefly she would taste, too. He wasn't even sure he was kissing her back, or moving at all, too many questions forming in his head and being tossed away before he could answer them. When was the last time he had even kissed someone, like this, without sex being involved? When was the last time he had been kissed, or been this near someone, been this stunted out of action? _Don't know_.

And those questions lead to other less happy ones, and he turned his head so that their mouths disconnected and her cheek fell on his temple. They stayed there for a second. He was breathing hard, his lungs empty in a way that didn't make any sense. He felt her breath against his neck, making his hair tickle against his skin. Her hand slid back off his thigh, and he watched as it hovered over him before retreating back to her lap. She bowed her head so that the top of her head was against the curve of his neck, right under his chin, and that clean scent he'd caught earlier hit him again.

"Sorry," she whispered, but she didn't move.

He was still drunk, his senses dulled, but he wasn't so far gone as to say anything that was going through his head. _S'fine. Get off. Do it again_. He couldn't even land on a solid answer, cycling through the emotions.

"Alright," he said vaguely, looking away and bringing his fingers up to where his lips were tingling. They came away bloody. He rubbed the liquid between his fingers absentmindedly, way more focused on the girl next to him and the way her body kept getting closer to his, her other hand clenched tight on the rag that was tinged in spots with bright red.

She finally sat up, looking at him, and he saw a bit of red at the corner of her mouth where he'd rubbed off on her. "'Alright' like, 'it's alright'? Or 'alright' like 'alright, you're sorry'?" she asked, her voice taking on a deep tone to mock him in a way that tugged his face into a smile.

He didn't answer, didn't think before reaching up and touching the corner of her mouth with his thumb, rubbing away the blood so it smeared faintly across her cheek. She stared at him while he did it, her lips falling open, and he dropped his hand as suddenly as he'd put it up.

He shook his head, not looking at her. "You're a kid, Beth."

It was only the second time he'd said her name out loud. He liked the way it tasted, liked the way it felt, but anything he liked about it was gone by the way she looked at him. Or, really, failed to look at him, opting to look at the floor instead. "Yeah, you're right," she said, standing up and dropping the rag on his lap. He caught a flash of her face before she walked away, bright red with embarrassment.

He didn't stand up, didn't even move or turn his head to watch her leave, just as fucking lost as he was when she was kissing him. _Kissing_ him. He owed money to a dealer, his brother was hooked on God knew what, he didn't have two damn dollars to rub together, and Beth had been kissing him. If he wasn't in for a shitshow before, he sure as hell was now.

**Was this a cliche? yes. Do I care? no. Except for if y'all do. Did it happen too quickly? Ugh. Let me know. And, just so y'all are aware, I do know there's a bit of a rift between the Dixon bros. I'm kind of writing how I think things would have went had they been allowed to continue minus zombies. (also I hate writing action scenes. But I wrote that kiss scene first and there had to be a reason for punches being thrown so please tell me if this sucked.)**


	6. Chapter 6

**two updates in a row I am on a roll**

As far as first kisses go, Beth considered that to be one of the worst.

But then again, she thought, it could also have been one of the best. She'd been unable to stop herself from thinking about it while she and the other waitress, Shannon, closed up the bar, even though it was already becoming a painful memory. She didn't know what else she could have expected to happen, kissing him like that when she was just supposed to be patching him up. But still, it had felt like what she was supposed to do, at least while it was happening. The way he'd been looking at her…

_You're bein' silly. He didn't look at you like anythin'._

It'd been those eyes. Even just the memory seared through her, making her blush for the millionth time that night. Her cheeks must be permanently red.

"They'd better not come back here," Shannon grumbled as she turned off the last of the lights, looking around one last time to make sure they'd gotten everything. "Sick and tired of cleaning up after grown ass men."

"They?" Beth asked, twiddling her fingers nervously. She was fairly certain their kiss had gone unnoticed, but she still wasn't looking to explain if questions started being asked. "I thought it was just the older one that started the fight."

"I don't care. They're a pair. Almost never see one without the other." She frowned. "At least, that's how it used to be. Merle disappeared for a while. Probably not good news that he's back. Did you see him hitting on me?" she asked, the distaste all over her face. "Whatever, let's go home."

Beth followed her out, waiting as she locked the door and then bidding her goodnight. It wasn't until she turned around to walk to her car that she saw him.

Daryl was sitting on the curb, his back to the bar. He turned his head at the sound of voices, and she saw a cigarette dangling from his lips as a puff of smoke floated towards the streetlight before he faced back forward. He either hadn't heard Beth's voice or he was ignoring it, pushing his unkempt hair back out of his face, his fingers tugging through the strands. The heels of his boots scraped against the pavement as he stretched his legs out, sighing audibly. The stitches of the wings on his leather vest caught the light as he bent over, ducking his head down.

Beth looked around the parking lot, trying to make a decision. Shannon was already pulling out onto the road, leaving them alone. Merle was no where to be seen, and there was only one motorcycle left - the same one Daryl'd picked her up on - a couple spaces away from Beth's Jeep. She wasn't really sure why she thought there was any choice making to be done. She could really only leave and not say anything. Not even look at him again, not if she could help it.

But she couldn't just leave him here, alone, probably still drunk. Not when his brother had apparently already left him. Not when he'd been so … well, nice wasn't the right word, but she was at least fairly certain that if the situation were reversed he wouldn't be leaving her.

She started walking towards him. He tensed up when he heard footsteps, but didn't turn around. Maybe hoping that it wasn't her. But she didn't stop until she was next to him, sitting down beside him a healthy foot away. He stiffened as she did it, and she caught a fresh wave of the stinging rejection he'd given her earlier. She shrugged it off, dropping her purse on the ground beside her. "Whatcha doin'?"

He took an inhale on the cigarette again before answering. "Soberin' up."

It was kind of distracting. She'd never thought smoking was something that could look good, but she was finding herself staring at his mouth. Again. "Told you I would give you a ride."

He snorted, but otherwise didn't answer, snubbing out the butt of the cigarette on the ground before reaching into his vest pocket and bringing something out. She'd expected a box of cigarettes, but instead it was a little ziploc bag. Daryl looked at it in seeming confusion for a second before grunting and dropping it on the ground, reaching into his jean pocket instead and bringing out a pack of Marlboros.

Beth stared at the bag on the ground, squinting to try and see through its dingy outsides before realizing what it was: the pills he had bought on that first night they met. She glanced from Daryl to the bag back to Daryl again, trying to be sure. Had he bought drugs and then not given them to his brother? Was he taking them himself? Without thinking, she arched to reach over his leg and snatch it off the ground. He realized too late what she was doing, twisting to grab it back. She turned away from him so that he was against her back, his arm reaching around her.

"_Beth_," he grunted warningly. He seemed to realize all at once what position he was in, dropping his arm and sitting back straight. He picked up his pack of cigs again, yanking one out somewhat more disgruntled than before.

"I'm not gonna do anythin' with them, just hold your horses for a second," she said, a little breathless and giddy from the onslaught. Her heart was beating faster than it had any right to. She should not be this happy to be touched by someone who had called her a child just an hour prior. She tried to settle down as she opened the bag, not exactly sure what she was looking for. There was an array of pills, small and circular and different colors. One had been crushed, the fine powder coating the plastic. She closed it up and tossed it back over to him, feeling suddenly in over her head.

"Dunno what you were expectin'," he said, the new cigarette lit by now.

She pursed her lips. He hadn't exactly been forthcoming in the short time she'd known him. But, really, what was there to lose from asking him what she wanted to know? He'd already turned her down once. "Thought those were for your brother."

"They were," he said, stretching his fingers out on his thigh. "They are."

"So," she said, prolonging the word to prod him to keep speaking. When he didn't, she tried again. "So why didn't you give them to him?"

"What does your dead daddy gotta do with you workin' at a bar?" he shot back, turning to look at her, acid in his voice and eyes. He looked all the more venomous for the purple and blue blooming in bruises across the side of his face.

She reared back before straightening. He'd done this before, the first time she'd asked about his brother, just shut down and brought the big guns out. But still, the question hit on raw nerves that she wasn't ready to explain yet, not just pulling at weeds but going to the roots. She looked away from him, wondering why she was even here in the first place, how many signs he was going to have to give her that he didn't want her near him before she listened.

"Sorry," he said, smoke swirling. He was already halfway done. "Been a shitty night."

And maybe that was why she was here. Because she kept seeing something in him. Which was silly, she knew. She didn't even known him, had only met him days ago. But _something_. It was a bit of a hobby of hers, something Maggie'd called her fatal flaw: Beth liked to fix people. But Daryl, it wasn't quite like he needed fixing. Something more like he'd been broken and fixed himself so many times that it was kind of like he couldn't be broken again. She'd seen it in his face when he'd been on the floor, just waiting to get hit again, resigned to it. And maybe she was overthinking the whole mess of it.

She was just a kid, after all.

"Didn't give him the pills cuz he acts like an asshole when he's coming down," he said suddenly, his voice matter-of-fact. "More of an asshole."

"That's brave," she said truthfully, and she meant it. Making those kinds of decisions - even if her family had taken that away from her, she knew it couldn't be easy.

"Dumb, is what it is," he said. "Playin' with fire."

He sounded so defeated, so down to the bone _exhausted_ that it broke her heart a little. She pursed her lips, making another split second decision that would put herself on the line for rejection again. She grabbed her purse, taking a pen out. She tested it on her own wrist first, then took his hand from where it laid on his thigh.

"I know you ain't gonna use it," she said, writing her number on the back of his palm, "But if you need it, I'm pretty good at answerin'." She dropped his hand when she was done, smiling at him, pleased that he had let her. "You do got a phone, right?"

He wasn't looking at her. "Yeah."

"Good," she answered, standing up and wiping the dirt from the back of her shorts. "Then I'm goin' home. The baby's gotta be starvin' by now," she added lightly, smiling when he looked up at her. She caught the faintest edge of a smile on his face before he looked back down. "See you later, yeah?"

He didn't answer, though she hadn't really expected him to. She went back to her car, smiling to herself the whole way. The last she saw of him was him watching her leave from her rearview mirror.

* * *

Back at Sarah's, Beth barely got even a couple hours of sleep on the ratty couch before she was awake again. Her mind immediately went to Daryl, a reckless trainwreck of thought that she could do nothing to stop.

Because it was all she could do not to see his face when she closed her eyes, nearly bordering on obsessive. Which maybe she could give herself something to obsess about that wasn't death or the future or her family or the endless list of disappointments available at her fingertips. No, maybe she could think about this instead, and what it was that had gotten her to give him her number. It wasn't something immediately obvious just looking at him; even now thinking about it she couldn't pin it down. He was most definitely older than she was, at least in his thirties. In his _thirties. _At _least_. And she'd _kissed_ him, a grown man who'd really, when she thought about it, hadn't given her any signs he'd wanted her to do so.

But he hadn't really stopped her, neither.

She groaned, putting her head in her hands as she rolled to her side, hoping to go back to sleep and avoid this whole situation for a little longer, but no sooner had she closed her eyes than baby Violet started screaming. Beth winced, reaching up to where her phone was resting on the arm of the couch. 6:34. She'd always been somewhat of an early riser, but waking up with the sunrise was a bit different from waking up to a baby crying. She could hear Sarah soothing Violet, carrying through the thin walls of the only bedroom, her soft voice unintelligible as the baby's cries came down.

The living situation wasn't ideal in the least, but still, she had to admire Sarah for keeping anything together. Beth'd only been on her own a week and she'd already ruined some things for herself.

She gave up on going back to sleep, rolling clumsily off the couch. The sun was just starting to light up the sky, cold light coming in through the small windows and illuminating the path as she padded over to the small kitchen. She opened up the fridge, rooting around sleepily before finding one of the wet washcloths they kept in there for when Violet's teething left her especially cranky. She brought it to Sarah's bedroom, knocking on the door before going in.

"Mornin'," she said, smiling sleepily as she handed the rag over.

"You're a lifesaver," Sarah said as she took it, wrapping it around her finger and offering it to the baby. "If I had known you'd be this helpful I would've invited you to move in here months ago."

"Just doin' what I can," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. She was having trouble opening her eyes all the way, swaying where she sat.

"Got home late last night. Didn't hear a motorcycle this time," Sarah said, shooting Beth a look as she sat down next to her.

"I told you that was nothin'," she answered, leaning her head against the bedpost. Sarah had certainly had a lot of questions about that when she'd taken Beth back to her car the next morning.

"I know, I know. But still. You gotta admit that kind of coincidence - or, you know, fate - doesn't happen without a reason."

Beth smiled involuntarily, turning to waggle her fingers in front of Violet's face. "He thought she was mine," she said, smiling as the baby grabbed her fingers in a vice grip before promptly putting them in her mouth, the washcloth forgotten. "Asked me about her last night."

"You're free to take her. She's being terrible," Sarah said, leaning down to kiss the top of the baby's head.

Beth watched as she rested her chin on Violet's head, rocking back and forth sleepily. "I kissed him," she said suddenly, the words coming out without any provocation on her part.

Sarah's eyes shot open. "You _what_?" she asked, then covered Violet's ears. "Did y'all-" she started, then raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"No!" Beth whisper-shrieked, indignant as her neck and cheeks burned.

"Sorry, sorry. I mean, you did just run away from home. Might as well go all out."

Beth shifted. "Well. He's sort of. I mean. He's a bit older?" she said, the statement coming out as a question.

"What, like early twenties? mid twenties?" She gasped scandalously when Beth smiled guiltily, pointing her finger towards the ceiling so she would keep guessing. "Late twenties? Early thirties? Mid thirties?!"

"He's gotta be at least 35. Maybe forties. Can't really tell," she said, and she couldn't help but laugh at Sarah's face and just the ridiculousness of it all.

"Holy shit," Sarah said, murmuring a quick apology to the baby in her lap. "So...what happened?"

"Nothing. I don't think he appreciated it, to be honest."

Sarah scoffed. "Have you seen yourself? There's no way he didn't appreciate it."

There was, Beth could admit, a little bit of truth in what she was saying; even if she never acted on it, Beth was kind of used to being pursued. Rejection - especially so blunt - wasn't something she had thoroughly experienced before. "After I did it, he called me a kid."

Sarah winced in sympathy. "To be fair, you kind of are." She bounced Violet on her knee as she thought. "Is this some kind of rebellion thing? Trying to get back at your family?"

Beth shook her head. "I don't think so. I don't know why I did it. Just kinda wanted to. He'd just gotten into a fight -"

"A fight? You kissed a thirty five year old man right after he'd gotten into a fight?" she interrupted.

"It wasn't like that, he didn't start it. He didn't even participate, really."

"Okay, wait. Just start from the beginning. And leave nothing out, because I'm officially living vicariously through you."

So Beth recounted the whole sordid tale, from him avoiding her to the fight to the kiss to their talk after. When she was done, Sarah was smiling broadly, nodding her head in approval. "Oh my God. He totally wants you."

"But-" Beth started, but Sarah waved the objection away.

"Beth. If he didn't want to see you, he would've gone to a different bar. If he didn't want to kiss you, he would've stopped you. If he didn't want your number, he wouldn't've let you give it to him. Oh, yeah. Totally wants you."

"Hush. Not like it matters anyhow." And it didn't, not really, because the whole thing felt a little different than "he wants you." And she didn't even have time for whatever messes he had going on, not when she had so many herself. She wasn't in any position to be helping anybody else.

So she went back to her couch, trying, again, to put her mind somewhere else. It wasn't like she didn't have other things to think about. Money, school, Maggie, Shaun, her mother. Her father, whom she couldn't even put in the same sentence as Daryl.

She was nearly back to sleep when her phone rang, loud and persistent. She didn't even bother to check the name on it, not opening her eyes as she brought it to her ear.

"Hello?" she asked groggily, the irritation and exhaustion clear in her voice.

But that was gone as soon as she heard the masculine voice on the other end of the line, brisk and raspy.

"You still wanna give me that ride?"

_**dun dun dunnnnnnnnn**_**. Well. Not really, but, you know, cliffhanger noises and all that. **


	7. Chapter 7

Merle was gone when Daryl got back to the hotel. From the looks of the room, he hadn't even been back. If it hadn't been the fight - and Daryl's lack of enthusiasm in participating - he might not've been too concerned. But if Merle licking his wounds had turned into Merle looking to other avenues of comfort, this whole night could turn into an even more fucked morning.

Daryl wished he could say that calling the girl had been a last resort. But it'd been more of an instinct than anything else, a realization that he couldn't do this alone and that her face was really the only one that came to mind. He could ride around on his bike, sure, and maybe even find him that way, but what then? Common sense told him chances were Merle wouldn't be in any shape to drive back, and being stuck with a drugged out pissed off Merle with no choice of getting him back home wasn't a real convincing option.

It had been a relief and a panic when she'd actually answered - maybe her giving him his number had been some kind of a fluke, the invitation to call her insincere - and when he'd asked her for a ride she hadn't asked any questions, but that didn't make the waiting any easier. He sat at the edge of the parking lot, waiting for her car to come. If she had any thoughts or reservations about coming to some seedy apartment complex to pick his ass up, she hadn't expressed them on the phone. But still. He shouldn't've called her, called the girl he'd brushed off and nearly made cry. Yet here he was, anxious and inexplicably nervous, his whole body tense and caving inwards.

He didn't stand up when she pulled in, watching and waiting to see if the sight of him at this fucking shitty hotel hotel was enough to get her to turn around. But all she did was park, opening her door to get out, crossing her legs as if she'd been waiting on him. She smiled, waving a delicate hello. Her hair was a mess, falling all out of a ponytail that was barely there anymore. She was wearing a t-shirt so big he couldn't see if she had on shorts underneath, and there were sandals on her feet. Her makeup from the day before had flaked away, leaving smudges of black under her eyes to match the dark circles that were already there. It was obvious she'd been in bed when he'd called, looking about as tired as he felt.

She'd come when he'd asked her to. Hadn't even hesitated.

He didn't dare pause on any of the thoughts or feelings that accompanied that realization, pushing them down and away as he got to his feet. She smiled when she saw him, straightening up and uncrossing her legs. "Mornin'," she said when he was closer, and if she was mad at him for being a pain in the ass before the sun was even warm she wasn't showing it. "Are you livin' here?" she asked him, looking around. Even the parking lot was shitty, cracked with weeds growing through everywhere.

He didn't hear any judgement in her voice, or see any traces of it on her face or body, but still, he felt that sharp pang of self awareness. "Just temporary," he said, stopping about a foot away from her. He'd known it was going to fuck him up to be near her again, especially being sober now, but even just being this close the only thing he could think about was her was the way she'd tasted. "Sorry," he said, and he couldn't even remember what the apology was for but he was sure she could probably apply it to something he'd done and make it work.

"Don't got anythin' to be sorry for," she said, chipper as she was when he saw her at more reasonable hours. "But do you mind tellin' me what I'm doin' here?"

He was relieved that they were getting to the task at hand. "Merle ain't here. If I find him he'll likely be - _indisposed_," he said, stuttering over the word. "Can't take him on the bike with me and I don't got a car."

"Oh," she said, and he thought he could hear disappointment in the short syllable. _What else you think I'm callin' y'for, Blondie? _She seemed about to say something else, but then she closed her mouth, turning around and hopping back into the driver's seat. He followed suit, crouching to get into the Wrangler. She'd taken the soft top off since he'd last seen the car, so at least there was air in his face. He rested his arm out the window, trying to gain some semblance of comfort. Country music played lightly through the speakers, sounding tinny, but it was something.

"You don't have to do this," he said, not sure what he was thinking the alternative was but wanting to give her an out anyways, the kiss fresh in his mind all over again, repeating itself every time he looked at her.

"Kinda late for that," she said, and he thought he could hear an edge to her voice. "Besides, I don't mind. I don't have to work today." She flashed a smile at him. "Got me all to yourself."

He swallowed, looking out the windshield. "Take a right out of here and go straight at the light."

She followed his instructions. "Got any idea where he's gone off to?"

"Yeah," he answered. A few, each less likely than the last. Truth was, if Merle wanted to disappear, he would, and there wouldn't be a damn thing Daryl could do about it.

"He do this a lot?"

He shifted in the seat, the space too small. Get used to riding on the bike and it was hard to get back into a car. "Since we were kids."

"My sister, she used to run away a lot. We had a little shed out back and she'd hide in there until she got tired of no one lookin' for her." She turned to look at him as they rolled to a red light. "So where's Merle's barn?"

He instructed her over to one of Merle's other dives, the ride silence except for the music and his direction. He didn't even have to get out of the car to know he wasn't there, his bike absent and the place obviously closed. And they repeated this, first with one bar and then another

This was hopeless. Everywhere was closed. More than likely he was at some hole even worse than their dingy apartment, with people along the same strain as Ray.

They were still in the parking lot, and even though she wasn't asking questions she obviously wasn't sure what to do. She reached out to touch his shoulder, her hand light and delicate and warm. "Where else you wanna go?"

"This is a goose chase," he said, which he'd known from the beginning. So why had he dragged her into it?

Because he'd wanted to.

She removed her hand from him, putting it back on the steering wheel. "Wanna go to the plaza?"

The plaza was a little rundown group of bars and a convenience store and restaurants, a sorry excuse for _downtown_. "He ain't there."

"Well, what do you wanna do? Where was he last time? Would he go back to the hotel?" She asked the question one after the other, giving him enough time to answer before sitting back in her seat.

She sighed, her shoulders sagging a little, then put the car into drive, leaving the bar behind them as she got back onto the road. He didn't ask where they were going, too caught up in his own thoughts - too caught up in trying to _not _have thoughts. Because he'd wanted her there. He'd called her up and asked her to come because he'd wanted to see her, and she actually had gone along with it. So now he was along for the ride, except she was in the driver's seat.

"Shoot," she said, and it took him a second to realize that it had begun to rain, fat drops coming down on both of them, starting slow but picking up speed. He hadn't noticed the clouds until now, but here they were, dark and angry above them. "I gotta pull over," she laughed, blinking against the water coming into her eyes.

It was another couple miles before they found a gas station. She pulled up into the covered area, both of them already soaked. Her t shirt stuck heavily to her skin, strands of hair sticking to her face, goosebumps all over her thighs and arms. She turned to smile at him, laughing when she saw the damage. "You look like a wet dog," she said, reaching over to push his hair back, laughing harder when they fell right back down. "C'mon, let's go."

She got out of the car, but it took him a few seconds to move, different thoughts and feelings fighting against one another just from that touch. He wished she would stop. He doubted she had any idea exactly what she was causing.

She turned around, the laugh still on her face and in her voice. "You comin'?"

"Yeah," he said, but she was already gone, walking towards a bench that was under cover of the canopy that stretched out over the sidewalk. She sat down in the center, and when he didn't move she patted the spot next to her.

So he sat.

He pulled out a cigarette, thinking that maybe he shouldn't be smoking this much around her, but also thinking that maybe he shouldn't be around her at all. If she minded, she didn't say anything, crossing her legs and looking out as the storm cascaded around them.

"Sorry," he grunted, and continued when she looked at him. "'Bout your car."

She waved him off. "It's been through worse, trust me."

It seemed like there might be a story there, but he let it go, not sure how to frame the question or even if he should.

"Want one?" he asked, knowing the answer but needing to fill the silence with something other than smoke.

She shook her head, but then leaned in close, laying her head on his shoulder and then turning her face into him. He looked down at her to watch her close her eyes as she inhaled deeply, smiling before looking sleepily back up at him. "I've always loved that smell," she explained.

It was becoming clear to him that this constant touching was just a thing of hers, just like the smiles and the questions, just like her in general - just persistent closeness that seemed to come naturally, as natural as the deep breaths she was making against his shoulder, as natural as the summer rain falling light but steady in front of them. He kept smoking, trying to time his exhales with her inhales, letting that pattern ease the clench of his chest.

"Did you run away a lot, too?" she asked, still against his arm.

Breathe out. "You ask a lot of questions."

"One of us has got to," she said.

"Why?" he asked, the word getting drawn out into the air along with the smoke, and it was a question that he hadn't realized how much he'd been thinking it until it was out in the open like that. _Why_. Why him, why smile at him, why kiss him, why even acknowledge the space he fills or waste her breath to ask him these questions when he already knew that all he had to offer her was more of what she was probably trying to run away from.

It was a fucking load of shit that came with that _why_, more baggage than he had hands to carry. She must've noticed the change in his demeanor, because she sat up to stare at him quizzically, a cute cock to her head.

Cute? That was new.

"Why what?"

"Why you askin'," he mumbled, his shoulder cold where she had been.

She shrugged, not like she didn't want to answer but like she hadn't put much thought into it in the first place. He envied her that lightness, that ability to just _exist_. "Just curious. Ain't you curious about things?"

He shrugged one shoulder awkwardly. _Yes._ But he didn't feel like he had a place to ask her about any of the things he was curious about, like that was crossing some kind of line somehow. Like asking something of her was more than he could expect from whatever this was, whatever had made her give him her number or even talk to him in the first place.

"We don't have to talk about anything. We can just … sit here, I guess." She rubbed her cheek. "Or I could take you home, if y'want."

She was giving him options, or at least the illusion of some. The right choice was obvious. He needed to go home, and wait on Merle, or keep making rounds to his favorite dives and hope he showed up. A lot of sitting and waiting and doing nothing and being useless. That was what he needed to do.

"Can stay," he said, and he didn't even look at her but he could see the brilliance of her smile in her peripheral vision. Radiating. Not cute, but beautiful. He felt uncomfortable in his own skin just from sitting here, could feel the imbalance and could imagine how strange and out of place they would look from the outside in. How out of place he felt actually being a part of it. Not just because she was pretty, and young, and happy, or because he was exactly none of those things, but because how many times had he been the observer in this exact scenario? This wasn't how his life worked, where he should be, where she should be. There was an undeniable level of surrealism, being here, feeling her settle back against his side, and it was hard to keep himself from becoming detached from this, detached from her.

"I guess I'm the runaway now," she said, snapping his ever widening circles of thought back into clarity. "Bet no one thought that would happen."

"Wouldn't've bet on it, no."

"Why not?" She seemed a little offended, even though she had said it first. "Maybe I was the one who was runnin' away all the time. Maybe they could barely keep me in my house. You don't know."

"Yeah, I do," he countered, and he knew that he was right.

"How do you know?" she asked, sitting up again, twisting so that she was on her knees resting back on her heels. "Why're you so sure?"

He shrugged. "Too safe."

"Too safe?"

"This ain't your scene, girl," he said, tossing his cigarette on the ground and watching the burn come to a quick end under the rain. "Ain't no white picket fences here." There was truth in that, too. Maybe she was running away from home, running away from death and pain, but this - this place, searching for his fucking brother, picking him up from a hotel and pretending he didn't live there - this was his life. Not some outfit that he could try on and then change out of when he decided he didn't like the feel. This was all there was, all there had ever been, and maybe it didn't make any sense but he had learned a long time ago that it was better to roll with the punches than waste time trying to get out of the fight. She might be here, now, but it wasn't her place. Wouldn't ever be her place. Two different puzzles.

"That how you see me?" she asked, and he hadn't meant to upset her but just by her tone he knew that he had. "Haven't you ever heard not to judge a book by its cover?"

He laughed out loud, couldn't even help the bark that came out of his throat. "Got some notion of it, yeah."

"I'm here, I'm helpin' you. Or tryin' to." She paused. "Stop tellin' me where my place is. I ain't a little girl. Or a _kid,_" she said, a vicious callback to their kiss the night before. As if that wasn't enough, she leaned in closer, her nose grazing his cheekbone, her hand clutching on his shoulder.

What was this girl's problem? How many times had he told her that this wasn't where she was supposed to be, not in this part of town and definitely not sitting next to him? Why keep playing him like this, tugging at his skin and his breath and his lungs when he had trouble enough breathing on his own?

He should tell her what he saw her as, say those words that would push her off of him. Say she was some kid out of her depth and out of her league, going through a _phase_, rebelling, looking for something that he sure as hell couldn't help her gain. He wasn't right for this, for whatever it was that she was wanting - someone her family would disapprove of, maybe. Or, worse, she felt sorry for him. Doing her civic duty, patching him and his druggie brother up. But, while there was some truth in all of that, he couldn't say it. Wouldn't.

She seemed to sense his internal struggle, or maybe he just took too damn long to act, because she gave him a quick kiss on his cheek before resting back on his shoulder. She brought her legs out from underneath her, resting them against his so that their thighs were touching, letting them both sit in silence.


	8. Chapter 8

***pokes Bethyl fandom with stick* y'all alive out there? I'm sorry I'm the worst. I was finishing up summer classes and then I was moving and fandom had to take a backseat for a second. But here it is - a bit short but I'll have the continuation of it this weekend. This is kind of another transition chapter for what I have planned next. **

**Oh, also posted part 1 of a smutty one shot a couple weeks back...will also work on getting that up. Didn't mean to be so rude with that. And maybe more of I See Fire. And most definitely more of Out Come the Wolves. Just lots of stuff. **

Daryl wasn't sure how long they sat there, the rain rolling in heavy drops off the awning, her thigh matched up against his, her cheek warm on his shoulder. Her breaths had gone deep, her fingers twitching a little in her lap, and he was at least relatively sure at this point that she had dozed off listening to the rain.

Had he really only met her days ago? That seemed such a distant point in time and space, and even though he could remember it, remember her, remember the glasses dropping and the smile and the little edge of _does not belong_, it was like lifting back a curtain to picture it all. There was Ray, and _fuck_ he had been wasting too much time already, and drugs and Merle and the bike and the apartment, and even though the girl was insignificant in light of everything else, he was having a hard time grasping that she was that recent of an addition.

Not an addition. Not permanent. But she was here, and that was weird enough to throw him off balance.

He rested his head back against the wall. He was tired. A hangover was teasing his skin, threatening to pull him under. He looked down at the top of her blonde head, at the goosebumps raising stark on her thighs. She couldn't be older than eighteen. Which is fucking ridiculous, because right now he's feeling nothing short of helpless, and she's just a damn girl. But she's sleeping against him and he can't move until she wakes up. Won't.

Would be kind of a dick move, he tells himself. To drag her out of bed and then keep her from sleeping just because he'd rather she didn't do it so close to him. Or do anything so close to him. Breathe so close to him. Exist so close to him. And still, there's that surrealism, a realness that was lacking in this whole situation. He could feel her, could feel her burning next to him, alive and bright as anything, and even so he could almost close his eyes and convince himself that none of it had happened at all.

So he did close his eyes. Breathed in deep, the smell of rain hitting warm concrete filling his senses. At least that wasn't changing anytime soon, the process of bringing some much needed oxygen to his stiff body. Maybe help some blood flow where his arm was falling asleep underneath her weight. It wasn't really all that uncomfortable. Could definitely rank this pretty high in the list of places he'd been forced to crash. And maybe he should feel weird, or uncomfortable, or at least kind of guilty.

But he didn't feel any of those things, didn't have the capacity to carve out more room for guilt or questions of his moral integrity right now. He just felt tired.

So he slept.

* * *

"Daryl."

He hears her voice, and it doesn't take anything more than that for him to be wide awake, eyes open. He blinked. The sun came out some time while they were asleep, and now the sunlight filled the air, bouncing off the pavement to hit his eyes, making him blink. He turned his head to find her looking at him, her hair matted against her cheek from where she had slept on him, a line pressed into her red skin from the fabric of his shirt.

She smiled. "You slept."

"Wasn't much else to do."

"You could've woke me up," she pointed out, tugging her hair out of the ponytail only to gather it all up on top of her head again. She tugged a hair tie off her wrist with her teeth, holding it in her mouth while she twisted her hair into shape, gathering it from everywhere it had fallen free. He watched, a little bit mesmerized - there was something so purely feminine about her, especially now, and even though it was a jolt of unfamiliarity, it was also so innocent that he couldn't help but stare. Seconds later, her hair was in a bun on top of her head, all those golden tresses somehow locked in place.

He shrugged, opting to look at her neck instead of her. She was still fiddling with her hair, more strands falling down around her face.

"You didn't sleep much either, I guess," she said, finally putting her arms down.

"Nope," he answered, and even though the silence that followed was awkward and dense, he couldn't think of anything else to add. Small talk had never been one of his strong suits. He looked back at her face, trying to judge what she was thinking, but all he could fucking see was fucking beauty, and no matter how hard he tried he was having a hard time getting past that initial reaction of being just stunned into silence. Like looking at words and trying to remember what it was like to not know how to read. He couldn't look at her and not see it.

"What time is it?" he finally asked, when he was sure he could speak without his voice giving away how fucking stunted he felt.

"10:30," she said, looking at her phone. There was a text notification on it, and he looked away as she opened it, trying not to pry. "Shoot," she said quietly.

He waited for her to explain, but she didn't, her thumbs moving as she texted back. "Sumtin' wrong?" he asked, and he shouldn't even care, but he did. A distraction.

"I told you I was livin' with a friend?" she said, not looking up. "She got called in to work today. She needs someone to watch the baby."

He grunted, not sure what the appropriate response was. "Should be gettin' back anyhow," he said, and even though it was true, he didn't like the sense of conclusion that hovered between them. That whatever had been going on these past few hours that had brought him to this moment where her hand landed on his thigh as she pushed herself standing was coming to an end.

He watched her eyes follow a monarch butterfly as it landed on the iron handle of the bench next to him, its wings fluttering. "Yeah," she said, quiet, her thoughts obviously elsewhere. She reached her hand out towards the butterfly, her eyes a little glazed, her sleep stained cheeks bright and pink, and he half expected the damn thing to go land on her shoulder.

But it flew away, and she blinked, smiling at him instead. "You ready?"

No. But he stood up anyways, rolling his shoulders to stretch them out, cracking his neck and his knuckles, ignoring the way she flinched at the sound. He stepped out into the sun that was beating down on them, seeing the clouds that had cornered them here dark and miles away.

"Let's go."

The ride back was quiet and hot, the air still thick with rain, clinging to his face and making his shirt stick to his back even as the wind whipped around them. She didn't ask anymore questions about Merle, which was something, but drove them back to the apartment without even needing his instructions.

"Where do you want me to park?"

"Here is fine," he said, his hand already on the handle. Not ready for an escape, exactly. But if he had to leave this and go back to Merle it might be better to rip the bandaid off.

She put the car in park, looking out the window before turning back to him. "So."

"So," he said, the word rolling long off his tongue. Unfinished. Peeling instead of ripping. He shook his head, opening the door, swinging his legs out and sliding out onto the pavement.

"Daryl," she said, and when he turned around she was leaning across the center console to get a better view of his face.

"Yeah?" he answered, leaning heavily against the frame with his forearm, the metal burning hot against his skin.

She frowned, her mouth opening around whatever words she was trying to say. "Nothin'.

He hesitated at the door, trying to think of something to say that would come across better than silence.

"You'll tell me if y'need me?" she asked, and even though something snide came to mind, she sounded so damn sincere he couldn't bring himself to say it.

So he nodded, once, drumming his fingers against the frame of her car. Hovering. Not wanting to go just yet, but having absolutely no goddamn reason to stay.

* * *

Merle was home. Daryl had somehow missed his bike in the lot - unless he'd lost it, which was definitely a possibility - but here he was. He was passed the fuck out, leg hanging off the couch, arm dangling with the remote on the floor. Daryl stood in the doorway, caught somewhere between numbing relief and a wave of anger. Because at least he'd come back. At least he wasn't dead, or missing, or locked up somewhere.

But "at least" wasn't really close to "enough."

A sleepless headache was beginning to pulse at his temple, but before he could make any decisions, his phone chirped at him from his pocket.

He didn't even have to look to know who it was. The girl. This fucking girl. The only other person who'd be texting him was unconscious in front of him.

He tried to wait before looking, to maybe not look at all, to build up some sense of false thoughts that he didn't even want to look. Walked to his bedroom. Tossed his phone on the mattress. Took a shower. Made extra noise to see if Merle would wake up. Because this was trouble. This was a fucking problem. Some pretty blonde girl who, for whatever reason, seemed invested. A fixer, maybe. _If it ain't broke, don't fix it_.

And he wasn't broke.

But he checked his phone anyways. Her number. He recognized the digits.

_You any good with babies? _

His first instinct was _probably fucking not_, followed very closely by _maybe_. It wasn't like he had a lot of experience with them. But he had a feeling that wasn't quite what she was asking. Because maybe he was the goddamn baby whisperer, but she didn't know that, and he didn't think that there was probably anything about him that screamed _leave me alone with your kids_, so really this probably wasn't about needing help.

His thumb hovered over the respond button. His hair was still wet, dripping down onto the screen, and he wiped it away so he could read it again. Probably shouldn't respond at all. That would be the safest option. He had enough to do today - really did have to sell that bike - and helping a teenager watch a baby couldn't be high on that list. Or really be on it at all.

But. He had called her. And she had answered. And she had come.

So he texted her back:

_What time?_

And flipped his phone closed.


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm officially losing all credibility with saying when I'm going to be putting these out. It turns out I'm terrible at making myself do things. But I'm not leaving it! And thank you for reviewing even when I'm late. It's pretty much what got me to finally push this. **

**K. Baby times.**

_What time?_

Beth couldn't help but smile when she got the text. She hadn't even known whether to expect him to reply; even now she couldn't quite imagine him texting. He probably had one of those flip phones, the kind that didn't have internet but had never quite phased out of use. She looked over to where Violet was sleeping. If she could just sleep the rest of the evening….

Then what? Scheming now to get him in a home that wasn't even hers. She didn't even get to have boys upstairs at home, let alone be by herself with one.

But she wasn't at home anymore, and those rules didn't apply, and she didn't have to be _good girl Bethy_. She could be whoever she wanted to be. She could be the girl who had the boy - or man, as the case may be - over.

She liked that. She liked that a lot.

_Anytime. You remember the place?_

And a minute later, she got a response: _Yes_.

Succinct, but that was alright, because she was trying to think of what this Grownup Beth would do. Shower, probably. Change, definitely. Luckily, the place was so small that there wasn't much to do in the way of cleaning, even though she didn't really think he'd care either way. She probably should've been nervous. Concerned, even. But she wasn't either of those things, and when she heard the loud engine of a bike and peeked through the blinds to see him rolling in, there was nothing negative about the thrill of pleased excitement that went through her.

She opened the door before he had a chance to knock, meeting him at the porch. "Hey," she said, standing in the doorway, and she was already smiling too much. She tried to settle down, because this was utterly casual, and new Grownup Beth did not get overexcited at nothing.

He tilted his head back in a nod that she guessed was his greeting, putting his keys in his pocket. She waited to see if he would give her anything else, but he didn't, he was starting to look back at his bike like he was contemplating leaving, so she stepped back to give him room to walk in. He didn't make it past the entrance before he stopped, looking around as she shut the door behind him.

"It's not much," she said, and then paused, because just judging on where she'd picked him up that morning he really didn't need to hear a defense of this place. He didn't fill in that pause, and it pulled on. Not an awkward silence - at least, not for her, but he was looking more and more uncomfortable the longer he stood there. She normally didn't have problems striking up conversation with people, regardless of familiarity, but with him, it was a bit of a slower dance. "Where's your bike?" she asked, looking around him to peek outside.

"Sold it," he answered, and if there was more of an explanation there he didn't seem to feel the need to give it.

"So that's… your brother's?" she asked, her voice lilting into the question, nervous to bring it up.

Not so much as even a nod this time. Not a fan of stating the obvious, she guessed. "You can take off your shoes if you want."

He looked down at them before eyeing the door. "Nah. Shouldn't stay for too long, anyways."

He was so incredibly transparent for someone who was so hard to pin down. She smiled. "Yeah? You got somewhere to be?" That question was becoming familiar to her in her conversation with him. She knew the answer before she'd even asked.

Back at his shoes again, then the walls, then her, eyes moving up her body. Not checking her out, she didn't think. More like taking stock. "Work."

She almost called him out on it, it was such a lie, but instead she moved to the couch, tucking her legs under her, giving him some space. He watched but didn't follow, feet rooted in place. "Where you workin', then?"

He shifted his weight to his right leg, shrugging. "Couple places. Landscapin', for now."

She perked up. "You any good? With growin' things?"

He shrugged again, seeming weary of her sudden curiosity. "Ain't been fired yet."

She had an idea now, and she sat up straighter. "Could you maybe do something with our yard? Sarah - the girl I'm stayin' with, you know - I know she doesn't like livin' here, and I owe her, and it'd be nice to try and bring some color here -" This all came out in a rush, but seeing the look on his face, she reigned herself in a little. "If you're up for it, I mean. I couldn't pay much." That was an understatement if ever there'd been one.

He was staring at her like she had three heads, like she was an alien and he didn't know how to begin to approach her. "Why?" he asked, and his hands raised from his sides only to fall uselessly back down.

It was a loaded question, but she went with the simplest answer. "Why not?"

He glanced towards the baby who was starting to stir, taking a couple deep breaths before looking back at her. "I don't plan shit. I just do what they tell me to."

"Good," she said, smiling wider. "Then you can just do what I tell you to."

He almost smiled at that, but it was like his whole face was stubborn against it. "Maybe."

"Maybe," she repeated. "Maybe yes."

"Just maybe," he corrected, a wry raise to his brow as he flashed her a look.

"You ever just say yes?" she asked, watching him as he looked towards the pictures that lined the walls.

"Nah," he breezed, looking from the crib to the pictures and back. "No dad?"

"No dad," she confirmed.

"Probably better off."

Well. That was something. A big something, she sensed, and she wanted to ask, but Violet chose that moment to wake up, wasting no time in transitioning from sleep to bellowing cries. They both looked toward the sound, then he looked at her in a way that seemed to say _you gonna get that_?

So she did.

* * *

_Probably better off_.

Jackass. Damn thing to say to someone who's dad had just died. Just fucking throw the daddy issues into the ring right off the bat.

Lucky the kid had woken up. He'd sensed she was about to move into some _Why_'s, maybe some _How_'s. Neither of which he was prepared to answer.

"Do you want to hold her?" she was saying, balancing the baby on her hip. "It's about time to feed her, I think."

"Nah," he said, shaking his head. He felt like he was taking up too much space, large and looming and awkward. He looked around, but there wasn't much to see: a couch with pillows and blankets on it, he guessed where Beth was sleeping; a small kitchen you barely had room to turn around in; beyond that a single bedroom and a bathroom. All the blinds were open, letting natural light sink into the room. He had an unpleasant sense of deja vu just being here, but even so, there was a baby and Beth and dozens of pictures on the wall of mother and child, and even if seemed a little bit familiar it was also very different.

"Thirsty?" she asked, and she was already in the kitchen. The baby girl was grabbing at silver chained necklace around her neck, yanking the cross attached to it down towards her shoulders.

He shook his head again, but she got a cup along with a bottle from the cabinet anyways. He turned towards the wall, looking at the pictures all lined up in frames. None of the pictures had a man in them.

"We really only got water. Unless you want formula," she was saying, and he looked at her fast enough to see her smile. "Can you grab her bag over there? By the wall?"

He did as she asked, following her to the kitchen. Which felt weird. This whole thing felt weird. It shouldn't, because she'd asked him here with the pretense of babysitting, and that was what he had agreed to, but actually being here and playing at house was something completely different. He watched as she moved, choosing the point furthest from her, a measly couple of feet.

"Water's fine," he said, leaning with one shoulder against the wall. "Where's her daddy?" he asked, trying to be casual in some meager attempt in erasing some of the daddy issues he'd given her earlier.

She handed him his glass. "The mom's? Or her's?" she asked, bouncing the baby up to her waist.

"Baby's," he said, watching her as she outstretched little fingers towards him.

"I dunno, she hasn't told me and I'm not really in the position to ask. Actually, can you take her?" she asked abruptly, and all of a sudden she was pushing her hip with the baby towards him. "I gotta mix her formula and she won't let me put her down."

He was shaking his head no before she was done talking, trying to take a step back but literally cornered against the wall. "Ain't a babysitter," he said.

"C'mon, it's just for a second. Haven't you ever held a baby before?" she asked, and now two sets of blue eyes were looking at him, both curious.

No. No, he hadn't.

But she was shoving the kid out to him, and the alternative to taking her seemed to be to literally run away, so he reluctantly held his hands out to pull the girl off Beth's hip, trading her for his water.

She smiled. "Her name's Violet."

"Violet," he repeated, the image of the flower coming to his head. She was even smaller in his hold than she had seemed on Beth, his hands wrapping easily around her, fingertips meeting at the back. He held her at arm's length as curiosity turned to cries and cries turned quickly into screams, little face turning bright red. He brought her closer, trying to mimick how he'd seen Beth hold her, shifting his arms to tuck her into his shoulder, but all that did was muffle the noise.

"Hell's wrong with her?" he asked, and the question came out angrier than he meant it to.

"She's teething, she's just bein' fussy about it," she answered, her voice bouncing along with the formula she was shaking up.

Teething. Like a puppy. Something he could work with.

He turned the girl around so her back was against him, her screams filling the room again. He offered her one of his fingers to chew on, and she took it in tiny, damp hands, pulling it to her mouth and gnawing hard. The crying came down almost instantly, and he let out the breath he had been holding in relief.

Beth smiled wide, cheeks stretching, eyes shining. "Fun, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he grunted, and the sarcasm he put into the word made her laugh. For some unknowable reason, the sound forced a humiliating flush up to his cheeks, and he turned around quickly towards the living room before she could see.

"Here," she said, tapping on his shoulder with the bottle.

He shook his head, turning to the side so he could look at her, hoping that she wouldn't notice any leftover color in his face. "Take her back."

Different kind of smile this time. A shit eating one. "No."

"The hell not?" he asked, and it came out as more of a snap, because this was frustrating and embarrassing and really, really not what he was good for.

"You're doing fine. Just take the bottle and feed her," she said, and pushed the bottle insistently out towards him.

He snatched it from her, because there really wasn't anything else he could do and maybe this whole scenario was going to prove her wrong. Or right. Whatever. And it really wasn't hard, actually, adjusting the girl so she was on her back in his arms, holding up the bottle because even though she grasped for it she didn't have the strength. It was maybe even easy, and when she looked at him, both of them, it was maybe even kind of nice.

"You're smiling," Beth said, and he looked up to find her staring at them both a little wide eyed. "I've never seen you smile like that."

He didn't answer. Couldn't think of what to say. He hadn't known her but a couple days, so really, it was a pretty worthless observation. But it felt like something.

"C'mon. We can sit," she said, coming next to him and putting her hand on his shoulder to push him gently away from the kitchen. They ended up on the floor, her against the wall, his back against the couch across from her. Both of their legs stretched out so that they were almost touching, which might've been a little bit safer than sitting right next to her, at least.

A quiet settled down with them, only interrupted by quiet suckling mixed with crickets and cicadas outside. The baby was a little furnace in his lap, but he couldn't move without jostling her. "How'd you get stuck with this?"

"With staying here?" she asked, crossing her legs at the ankles. Long legs, he noticed. Forever long, and golden tanned. "I thought you would've figured that out by now."

"Dead dad, angry sister, baby," he listed. "One plus one comin' out three."

She sighed. "It's a long story," she said, then looked off to the side before focusing back in on him. "I like kids. I used to teach the Sunday School. Grace Church. You ever go there?"

He shook his head no, and she looked back off, eyes unfocused. Another deep sigh made her body sag, her eyes half closing, and he thought of her looking at that butterfly earlier. There was something overwhelmingly calm about her in these between moments where he wasn't shoving his foot down his own throat and she wasn't asking questions that made him want to do it again. It had an affect on him, too, that serenity, and when he spoke it wasn't even much of an effort. "Ain't one for church."

She looked at him, her head tilting a degree. "Why not?"

He was more prepared for the inevitable follow up question this time. He looked at the sleeping kid, her head lolling over his arm, his stomach sweaty from her heat. "Don't worry. Don't think anyone's up there holdin' their breath for a Dixon."

She laughed once, a tired sound with more cynicism than he would expect. "I haven't been in ages."

He felt even more comfortable pushing the follow up this time. "Why?"

She laid her head back against the wall, looking at him through lidded eyes. 'Maybe I ain't one for church either, anymore."

That was surprising. More puzzle pieces. "Don't stop ya from wearin' that cross, though."

She reached up and fisted it, so quickly he recognized it as instinct. "My dad gave it to me."

"Sorry," he said instantly. Foot in mouth. Foot in fucking mouth.

"Don't be," she said, turning the cross over in her fingers before letting it sit still again. "He was definitely one for church. Every Sunday for as long as I can remember."

"Figures," he snorted, and she looked a little hurt. "Got church written all over you."

"What else do you see written all over me?" she asked, crossing her ankles, and from her tone he thought he might actually be in trouble.

He shrugged for what felt like the thousandth time. "Dunno."

"No, what else? White picket fences, church girl. What else do you think of me?" Her words were sharp and unfamiliarly acidic, edging on sarcastic.

"Didn't say those were bad things," he offered quietly. Waving the white flag before she had time to go on full offense. He'd obviously triggered something.

That seemed to settle back down, as she leaned back against the wall and let her shoulders fall. "You're good with her," she said suddenly, nodding towards the girl now asleep in his lap. "I should probably be surprised."

Which meant that she wasn't. Maybe she'd predicted this somehow, or sensed this in him. He should've probably been surprised by that, too.

But he wasn't.

"Here," she said, and sat up, crawling over the short space to him and reaching for the girl. "I'll put her in her crib."

He nodded, and ever so gently they moved her from his arms to Beth's. He followed her to the bedroom - and he was definitely following her a lot, he'd noticed, and not just tonight - and watched as she put tucked the girl into her crib.

"She's so cute," she whispered, then looked back to where he was still standing in the door. She gestured him forward. "Come look."

He did as she beckoned, ducking under the dangling mobile to get the same look she had. But he didn't see it, didn't see whatever it was that she was so obviously looking at, her face filled with warmth and soft fondness. He looked back in the crib, almost desperate to see. Violet was breathing deep, skin pink, head turned to the side, little arms and legs spread out.

But that wasn't what he wanted to look at. Not when Beth was right there, blonde hair falling in strands as she rested her face in her hand. She was so close to him. So fucking close. It was the bar all over again, just proximity that was becoming all too familiar. Blue eyes, but this time less alienating in their stare. He was stuttering, losing thought, muscle, function. Breaking down bit by bit.

"Yeah," he finally agreed, grateful for even that syllable.

She smiled. She was looking at him and she _knew_.

He stood up straight suddenly, moving so fast that the vertigo made him stumble a bit so his head hit the mobile, making it jingle and sway. He swore quietly, reaching up to steady it at the same time she did. Their fingers touched, and he yanked away again clumsily, and _why_ did she have to keep touching him? He backed away, a nice couple of steps into the door frame, but either she was oblivious or she didn't care because she followed him out. She touched his chest as she walked by, just a light drag of her fingers that was more of an _excuse me_ than anything else, but it made him stiffen and shove his hands into his pockets. He watched her walk away, trying to discern some kind of motive, but she didn't even look back, leaving him to watch the feminine sway of her hips until she crashed back on the couch.

"Do you wanna watch something?" He hadn't even moved when she looked back at him, looking confused when she saw he was in the same place. She patted the spot on the couch next to her. "Come sit."

Tricky. To sit was to stay, and to stay was to endure more touches and _why_'s, and he'd already been here way longer than he'd planned. Staying was dangerous. Staying was too much, because already he knew that if he didn't leave it wasn't really going to be anything close to 'd come. Even held the kid. The debt was paid. He didn't owe her shit now.

She sat back, and looked almost amused as she watched him, something teasing in her eyes. "You can go if you want, Daryl."

If you want. He could also stay, if he wanted. Which he did. Anything else would be lying to himself. But, stronger than wanting to stay was needing to leave. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd been thinking would happen here - that maybe he could reverse some of the effect she'd had on him from that morning, or maybe by feeding the beast his brain had become it would leave him alone for a little while. But instead he was hungry for more. Each time he'd seen her, the world waiting for him at home had changed a little. A little darker. A little less there. More shadows on the walls. And this place, this space that she created around herself, was becoming more real, and occupying it for even another minute was threatening to make the outside even more uninhabitable than it had been before.

Something changed on her face, her smile less bright, sadness in the turn of her lips. "Deer in headlights," she muttered, then stood up, walking towards him. He tensed, but she went for the door instead of him. "It's alright. You can go."

An offer. One that he was going to have to take.

He paused on his way out. "When you workin' next?"

She turned a little pink, looking down, and she looked cute. Real fucking cute. "Friday." She scuffed her feet along the carpet before bringing her eyes back to him.

"Alright," he said, trying to be casual, because this didn't matter - couldn't matter - and so what if she was going to be at the bar, he didn't even know why he'd ask, because he would've gone anyways and she definitely wasn't any part of that decision.

She giggled, a quiet, almost drunk sound, still looking him in the eye. She used her hand on the frame to push herself forward so that she was suddenly closer, her toes edging along his shoes and her chest brushing against his, her forehead level with his chin. He knew it was coming, felt it in her split second hesitation, and then sure enough she rolled to the balls of her feet, planting a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. Gone before he could even really feel it.

"See you, then," she chirped, and he turned around in time to see her smiling before she shut the door.

Two kisses in as many days.

Progress. He just wasn't sure in which direction.

**Believe me, I'm _trying_ to move them along. This is uncharacteristically slow-going for me. And, in payment for being the worst, I am trying to get out another chapter of I See Fire tonight, which, for those of you who don't know, is basically just me writing Bethyl smut and pretending it's a story. If you're interested. **


	10. Chapter 10

**hello all you lovelies. I'm excited about this chapter, and, in more good news, I'm excited about this chapter because I know exactly what's going on for the next 2-3 chapters. Which means a better chance of getting them up either on schedule or before then. **

Midnight and Daryl was already sloshed.

Part nerves. Merle was being quiet, which could only mean something brewing. Ray was going to have to be dealt with sooner rather than later. He was going to need a new mode of transportation that wasn't borrowing his brother's bike, and picking up a second job that wouldn't mind keeping him off the books was its own task. He needed to pay for the apartment for another week, and restock the fridge that was constantly going empty.

He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be drinking. He shouldn't be spending his money. Shouldn't be in this petty ass little spat with Beth he was currently having. He was going oh-for-four.

"Just try it," she was saying and pushed a clear double glass closer to him. It was filled with something bright red of her own creation that just looked like a hangover in a cup.

"Nope," he refused, and not for the first time. "Ain't no fuckin' way, girl."

"How am I ever supposed to get better if you won't even try what I make?" she begged, but she was laughing through the words. "C'mon, please. Just a sip."

He scratched his chin, pretending to think. "What's in it?"

"I'll tell you if you drink it." She was wearing another tank top tonight, tucked into shorts that rode high on her waist and cut off just right. She'd been paying too much attention to him, leaving the rest of the bar pretty poorly attended, and most everyone had already left. But she was smiling at him, and he was…. if not happy, distracted. Because this was easy, in so many ways that other things weren't. She wasn't a kid. He wasn't a grown man. She was just this pretty little thing that was talking to him, and he was buzzed pretty damn good so that the smiles came easier, and he hadn't even thought of Merle in hours. Hadn't thought of anything outside of those doors, or really anything outside of this fucking bar stool. It was still surreal. Not quite believable. But she was here, and this was tangible, and not much else mattered.

She was being insistent - used to getting her way, he imagined - and he really didn't think he had much chance getting out of this, or that there was even a point in trying for too long other than to hear her keep asking him. So he finally took the glass, getting an eye full of her gleeful face before taking a hefty gulp. It was worse than he'd imagined, an unidentifiable mix of liquors topped off with something fruity and maybe some mint, and he couldn't get it down without a grimace. She laughed, reaching to take the glass from his hand. Her fingers brushed his, and there was a little tightening of his lungs that only got worse as he looked at her.

She didn't seem to notice, smelling the drink and giggling. "Wanna know the secret?" she asked, setting the cup down so she could lean over closer to him. She was wearing some bright red lipstick, and he caught a whiff of strawberry as she drew near. "No idea what's in here. Just pulled some stuff and got a splash of each. Topped it with fruit punch."

He started nodding his head in resigned acceptance. "Got a name for your drink. Call it 'bullshit'."

"Call it delicious, you mean." He was having trouble looking at her again; she was bent so far that he could see her ass peeking out behind her.

"You're gonna pay for that, girl," he threatened, but she only smiled wider, fingers drumming along her cheek.

"Oh, yeah?" she said, looking him dead in the eye, and this time it wasn't so much a tightening as a full on fucking constriction of his whole body, starting low in his stomach and spreading like fire through his breath and blood. He shoved himself to a standing position, almost falling when his foot caught on the stool, all too aware of her eyes on him still.

"Be right back," he muttered as way of an exit, taking care not to look at anything above her shoulders before walking outside. He gulped at the air. How long had he not been breathing? But his body was empty of oxygen, his lungs burning, and when he reached for a cigarette his hands were shaking. He cursed under his breath, thinking again about what a fucking problem this was. Being drunk helped things, helped to not make every word he said feel forced and wrong. Helped him to look at her without wanting to turn immediately away.

So what? He was just going to get drunk every time he had to be around her?

And that was bullshit, even. Because he didn't _have_ to be around her. He didn't _have_ to do anything. He hadn't needed to call her, or answer her text, or go to her when she asked. He didn't even need to be here anymore. There were other bars, other cities, even. Other safer places that she didn't occupy.

Other, shittier places. But places, and he'd be a damn idiot to convince himself of anything otherwise. And all of these thoughts, all of these unfinished rambles that had plagued his head since that night she kissed him - maybe none of it even mattered anyways. Because he was sure she _knew_, that he was nothing less than completely transparent, and that she could see the way he looked at her and know what he was thinking. But that probably wasn't new for her. Pretty girl. A beautiful girl. He could just be another skeez, a slimy piece of shit that she'd have to peel off the heel of her boot along with the rest of the garbage here. And she had her own shit to deal with, shit that he didn't even know the extent of but knew was heavy all the same.

_But. _She'd kissed him. She'd taken his hand and given her number and asked him over. And all at once, he was back at square one, because as much as he didn't really need to be here, there was a long list of shit she hadn't really needed to do either. But she'd done them, and she was still here, and now a cherry red lipstick was shaded all over his thoughts.

The bell attached to the door rang just as he was snuffing out his cigarette under his boot, rubbing it into the wood of the porch and smearing the ashes out over the panels.

"There you are."

Fuck. Of course she'd come out here, with her damn boots and her cut off shorts and black nails.

"I thought maybe you'd left," she said, and she appeared next to him, curling her fingers over the railing and looking up at him. "What are you doing?"

He sighed, flicking his lighter on over and over, watching the flame disappear. "Gettin' crowded in there."

"Daryl. There are, like, two people inside." She didn't believe him, that much was clear, but if she was going to try to call him out she was going to have to do a better job. But she dropped it, instead nudging him with her shoulder. "I grabbed this," she said, and shook a mostly full bottle of something clear at him. It was already open, the label turned away so he couldn't see it.

"Ain't supposed to take drinks outside. Open containers." Been busted with Merle for that on more than one occasion. He took out another cigarette, lighting it and staring down at her from the corner of his eye while she watched. "You even know what you got there?"

She shrugged and turned the bottle in her hand to examine it. "Gin. And I won't tell if you don't."

"Gimme that," he said, and snatched the bottle to look for himself. "What you even out here for?"

"They won't miss me," she said, turning to lean her back against the porch railing. "You were just gone a while. Thought I'd check on you."

He took a drag, taking the second to look at her face, studying it for any hidden motives. Of course not. She stared right back at him, crossing her chest when he took the cigarette out and exhaled smoke in her general direction. "You checked. Best get on back."

She crossed her arms tighter, a light grin appearing on her face. "No."

He'd assumed as much, but he tilted his head back in appraisal. "If you're stayin', you're drinkin'."

She put her hand out for the bottle expectantly, not even looking away. "You're the one who took it from me."

He didn't hand it back at first, because really, him being drunk didn't mean _she _had to be.

Actually. Them both getting hammered sounded like a fucking stupid idea. All his thoughts, all his questions, all the little irrationalities that came together whenever he looked at her were bad enough when she was sober. He didn't know how the hell she'd be when she was anything less than that, or fueled by anything other whatever honest curiosity that had lead her out here in the first place.

But then, impatient of waiting, she took it from his hand. A moment's contemplation, and then she was taking a dainty sip. Her hand tightened on the bottle as she held in a gag, her eyes watering as they looked at him. "So why'd you come out here, then?" she asked. "You kinda ran."

She knew why, just like she _knew_ back at the house and probably knew all along. This was a ruse, just to get him to spill, or fuck up somehow. "Wanted a smoke. Alone."

She made a face at him. "_Alone_," she said, mocking the sternness of his voice. "As if you didn't have more fun with me in there."

Kind of exactly the fucking problem, though.

"Why are you so uncomfortable with that?" she asked, and then took a much larger swig that colored her throat red as it made its way down. "Every time I see you smile it's gone a second later."

He didn't answer, but took the gin from her both to take his own drink and force her to pace herself. "Bar virgins don't need to be pounding liquor."

She rolled her eyes dramatically, then pushed herself up so she was sitting on the rail, her leg touching his arm. "It's pretty nice out." She nudged him again, legs swinging, and grabbed his lighter from where he'd set it down. "What's up?"

"Stuff." Another drink that went down like water, his cheeks numb. Even if he wanted to stop talking there was no filter anymore. Any resistance he had was crumbled easily down by "Merle."

"But you have the drugs," she said, reaching out for bottle, legs still swinging against him. He passed it over reluctantly. "So what else is there?"

"I got one order. Don't mean he ain't gonna find more." He waited while he took another drag, going a little light headed. "Why you care, anyhow? You've got your own family. Don't need to be worryin' 'bout me and mine."

"Too late," she said, her voice elevated and lilted. Tipsy. "I don't wanna talk about my family. I wanna talk about you."

He snorted, but then she put her hand on his shoulder to balance herself as she swayed. She left her hand there, squeezing when she had righted herself. "Tell me about Merle."

"Ain't much to tell." Another cigarette. He'd only bought this pack this morning and it was already almost gone. "Been on and off and in and out since we was kids." He fished in his pockets for his lighter before realizing she still had it. He tapped on her fist. "Hand it over."

She did as he asked, but held on when he tried to take it, forcing him to look at her. "None of that really sounds like your responsibility," she said, damn puppy dog eyes all over.

"He's family," he said. It was almost reflex by now. "You don't get it. Shit ain't that simple."

She settled in, placing her hands in her lap. "Then explain it to me."

He almost laughed, turning to point a finger at her. "You're good at this." He'd already said more than he'd ever meant to, and it had more to do with her than the gin.

She blinked. "At what?" she asked, and sounded so completely, infallibly innocent that he almost began to doubt himself.

Until she smiled.

He slammed his hand down on the rail, making her jump and then laugh. "Knew it. Looking at me like a damn lost dog. You're somethin' else."

"Somethin' else?" she asked, still grinning, the bottle in her lap and her head in her folded hands. "What am I, then?"

"Dunno," he said, and he was trying not to look at her because he was worried once he started he wouldn't stop. "Ain't normal, though."

"We're just two people sharing a drink, talkin'. All sounds pretty normal to me."

"Yeah, this is all fine and dandy," he complained. This really felt like tipping the scales in her favor, and of all the shit he was uncomfortable with here being manipulated by sincerity was high up on that list. "Cept you're mostly sober."

She rolled her eyes at him, then picked the bottle up to her lips to gulp down a few swigs, not even stopping for a breath. She wiped her mouth off on the back of her hand and looked at him, coughing. "Happy?"

"No," he said, almost sullen. "I told ya you don't need to be drinkin' like that."

"Good thing you don't get to make that decision, then," she said, letting go of his shoulder, but as soon as she did she lost her balance. She swayed backwards, nearly falling off the rail before he caught her arm and pulled her back up straight. She was laughing again, her skin pink and warm, the sound filling the empty air. He smiled, too, her hands falling on his forearms to balance herself more.

"You alright?" he asked her, and pushed back the hair that was covering her face so that it was behind her ear. She nodded her head, her hands tightening to pull herself up to him before they landed on his chest, the pads of her fingers making their way into the v of his unbuttoned shirt.

He dropped her immediately, taking a step back and rubbing at his face. New little heat waves from her fingers were radiating on his skin, starting a new onslaught of questions he couldn't even make out the general shape of. He groaned, his eyes closed and the world spinning and rocking around him. "We shouldn't be out here. You ain't even legal."

"Now you care about what's legal?" she asked, the laugh still in her voice, then paused for another drink with an audible gulp. "I'm legal enough."

He scoffed, and when he looked at her, her mouth was still wet with gin. "Yeah, I'll be sure to tell 'em that when you're gettin' arrested."

She looked away, her smile fading and something more serious taking its place. "I don't think you should get involved with Merle's deals," she said, and she sounded significantly more sober even as her words slurred. "It's not good for you. You're a wreck. I've seen it."

There was immediate anger, because yeah, he was a fucking wreck, but he'd been that way for years and had been managing it just fine before she'd come along. Had managed himself. Had managed Merle, to some extent. And no matter what she thought she'd seen, or figured out, it couldn't even come close to the half of it.

_But_. Always the _but_. She was right. None of this was good, except in the sense that it helped keep Merle out of trouble. And hearing her say it - or, really, hearing anyone say it - was a level of validation to his exhaustion of it all that was completely new. He swallowed, rubbing the sweat off his forehead. "Me either," he agreed quietly.

"Good." She bit her lip, her teeth leaving a dragged path of smeared red lipstick, and then slowly hopped off the rail. "I gotta go back inside. We're closin' soon."

Just leave him to deal with thoughts even louder and more indistinguishable than before. He nodded, scratching behind his ear, but then remembered something important. "You workin' Saturday?"

She shook her head. "No. Not this time."

Good. That was something, at least, that she wouldn't be here to see him deal with Ray. He waved her off with his hand, stretching out. "Get on back."

"You'll get home alright?" she asked, running her hand through her hair so that it fell in strands around her face. "If you wait, I could -"

"Nah," he interrupted, already fishing for another cigarette. She waited for a few seconds longer, maybe hoping for him to say more, but then walked back towards the entrance. She paused with her hand on the knob, looking back at him.

"Goodnight, Daryl," she said, and disappeared through the door.

He nodded his head at nothing, feeling the need to acknowledge that she had left. He adjusted his previous score in his head: running oh-for-five, now, not even able to fend off a few drunken questions.

Blondie really didn't fuck around.

**You know what they say. Two steps forward...cue another ****_dun dun dunnnn_**** of conspicuous foreshadowing. **


	11. Chapter 11

**See? I'm even early. And planning on having the next bit up this weekend...feel free to motivate me though. I'm a terrible procrastinator.**

The second drug deal was making Daryl just as uneasy as the first. Wasn't like he was new to this scene, but playing backup to Merle to whatever shitshow he was involved in was different than dealing with one on his own. He had a wad of twenties in his pocket, a few hundred more than the asking price. More money than he was used to or comfortable with or would even fit in his damn wallet. More than he strictly needed, but he had some vague formation of a plan with this whole thing and extra cash was a big part of it.

He'd been here at Earl's a while now. Not inside so much, but out here, where the world didn't feel so small and he could smoke himself down to some calmer oblivion. Things were picking up a little, music and voices that swelled when the door opened. Nobody was paying him any attention, which he liked. Easier to sink into the background when Merle wasn't here. Easier without the girl, too. Focused. No distractions. Which was good, because he was already resenting needing to be here at all. Especially after last night, being told he shouldn't and agreeing. But it wasn't that simple, and he could try to tell the girl otherwise that he didn't want to be here but he knew he'd come all the same.

To make things worse, Merle had been a straight jackass to him, hassling him about where he'd been these past couple days and getting even pissier when he found out he was going where Merle couldn't follow. He'd finally gotten around to asking Daryl about the drugs, too, realizing that Daryl had never actually given him anything. He'd offered some semblance of the truth: that he hadn't had the cash on him, and Ray had refused to sell to him because of it. Which had pissed Merle off more - he apparently felt he was owed some favors - and if Daryl hadn't known he was meeting Ray tonight then he might've been worried Merle would do something stupid about it. Merle was always doing something stupid.

A jeep pulled up and parked right in front of him, blinding him in light. He swore, stepping back and blinking when the car turned off, trying to regain vision. A car door slammed, but then he could hear the slightly familiar sound of boots on concrete, the cadence of the steps even more familiar.

No. This shit wasn't happening. But yes, yes it was, because he could see Beth now, blonde hair and a loose shirt with skin tight black jeans that hugged her thighs and the curve of her hips as she stepped up to the porch. She waved at him, beaming, hopping lithely up the stairs. He looked back at her car when she got closer, lighting another cigarette while he contemplated the possibility of just setting himself on fire. That was the only good thing about tonight, that she would know nothing about it. He couldn't even have one damn thing go his way.

"Hey," she said breathlessly, her steps speeding up in his direction. He turned around just out of pure panic, knowing it was fucking useless but starting to try and walk away anyways. She caught up to him before he'd even turned the corner of the building, her small hand landing on his shoulder. He shrugged her off, stopping in his tracks and sighing.

"What are you doing?" she asked, and he could hear the smile in her voice, like she thought it was a joke. "Daryl-"

"You ain't supposed to be here," he said. But of course she was, to see this. He wasn't doing anything wrong, anything he didn't have to do. But he was pretty sure he'd left her with some impression that she had talked him out of it. Had borderline lied to her.

He didn't think she was likely to understand.

"I know. I traded shifts. You mentioned Saturday, so I…" She trailed off, her hand leaving him.

He turned a little so that he could see her. Red lips again. Hair still damp from a recent shower, curling in loose waves from the humidity in the air. "You what? Thought I wanted ya here?"

She blushed hard, not meeting his eye. He internally winced, because this wasn't her fault. None of this was her fault. But she was here, and she was already making everything so much goddamn worse. "Well. Didn't you?"

"No." It wasn't even hard to say, anger at the pointless inevitability of it all forming tight in chest. She was going to hate him in a couple minutes anyhow. See what she was dealing with, who he had to be. Might as well get it over with now, and stop dragging out the lie this had been since she kissed him.

"Hah, hah," she forced after a second, looking at him, waiting for confirmation that he was kidding. When he didn't give it, she frowned, shifting away. She stepped in front of him, ducking to get a look at his face. "Are you okay?" she asked, fingers tightening on the strap of her purse nervously.

"Peachy." Another cigarette lit. The ground was littered with the butts by now, his throat dry, but another smoke out here was another five minutes he didn't have to go in there with her.

"You seem sorta… off," she said, and either she wasn't catching his anger or she was ignoring it.

"I said I'm fine," he snapped. Edgy. He had to chill the fuck out. This wasn't even a thing.

"What's that in your pocket?" she asked, and she was looking with a drawn brow of concern towards his the side of his pants bulging with cash, the bills visible.

He shoved his hand in there, as if that helped anything. "Just happy to see you, Blondie."

She definitely ignored that, stepping closer. "Something's goin' on," she said slowly, and then her face lit up with understanding. "The drugs."

His patience was dwindling. Round of fucking applause for Nancy Drew, pinning him down for his drug toting ways. He said nothing, leaving her to feel it out for herself.

"I thought you weren't doing this. You told me you wouldn't. This is dangerous. Not to mention illegal. I thought you -"

"Yeah, you thought," he cut her off, not standing to hear even one more sliver of fallen expectations in her voice. "Stay out of this. It don't concern you none."

Her fingers tightened again, knuckles white, eyes narrowing into something fierce. "It's happenin' right in front of me, so it kinda does concern me."

"Then leave," he said, way too loud, his voice echoing off the walls, earning him some looks from the couple making their way in. He snapped his head toward her, ignoring the taken aback look on her face. She was scared of him. "Nobody asked you here. I sure as hell fuckin' didn't."

That did it. The final shove. She turned without a word, heels of her boots smacking the wood with the force of her steps. He watched her walk away, watched until she was inside and behind the bar, and every single one of those steps pushed something in him.

She didn't look back.

* * *

In hindsight, yelling at her hadn't been a good idea. Or telling her to leave, considering now she was working right in front of him and he had no choice but to deal with it. She was refusing to come anywhere near him, and he'd been sitting here for half an hour in wait. Her frustration was evident, mouth curving down instead of up, and she was being brief with everyone she served. Even the other girls working seemed to notice, giving her as wide a berth as they could manage. He'd settle now for her to even glance at him, which she was doing a good job of avoiding. But that wasn't a fair thing to ask for now. He'd wanted this, had wanted her to leave him be. Had pretty much slammed that fucking door shut and put a lock on it for good measure.

But if she could just look at him. Because now he was in an even worse mood than before, and he needed to at least pass for not pissed off. But how could he not be?

He was so distracted by her that he nearly didn't notice it when Ray finally arrived, bringing a ham of a dude with him that looked like trouble. Hopefully not something he'd have to deal with. He looked at Beth just to gauge her reaction, hoping that she'd have the sense to keep on what she was doing and stay away. She'd definitely noted his entrance, looking from him to Daryl, little lines of worry on her brow muddling the annoyed expression she'd been sporting since she'd come inside.

"How you been, Dixon?" Ray asked as he slid into the seat, and when he smiled he had the same yellow teeth as Merle, the same smell. As if he needed reminding of exactly why he had to be here. His security chose a seat a few stools away, and it took effort not to snort.

"Great," he said. _Kinda thirsty_. But he didn't dare say that and risk Beth outright saying something to him instead of just throwing the coldest of shoulders. But, apparently, he didn't even need to worry about that, because just as soon as Ray sat down Beth was coming over to them.

"Hey, there," she smiled, and if he didn't know what it looked like when she was being genuine he would think it was real. "What can I get for you?"

She very obviously wasn't asking him, standing right in front of Ray and looking directly at him, but Daryl answered anyways. "We don't want anythin'," he said, but she didn't even glance at him.

"I'll get to you, _sir_," she said, only the faintest pretense of forced manners in her voice. It was the coldest he'd heard her speak, but what the fuck did she expect him to do right now? It was exactly this shit that had made him not want her hear in the first place.

Ray looked from her to Daryl, a stupid smile stuck halfway to a smirk on his face. "What he said."

He stared at her, trying to discern what she was doing or wanted, but the most he could tell was that she seemed intent on inserting herself. "You sure?" she asked, and though she wasn't her normal self she was definitely giving him more warmth than Daryl'd gotten from her in the past hour. Which was to be expected, he guessed. He hadn't really been part of this kind of passive warfare before. Hadn't even wanted to deal with her presence in the first place.

"Whatever's on tap is fine," Daryl answered again, trying to at least secure her attention away from Ray. She finally looked at him, and frantically he tried to silently communicate somehow for her to just stop, please, to stay out of it, but her eyes turned steely as she looked at him and then back at Ray, who seemed amused at her seemingly blatant preference.

"How 'bout you come round again to check up on me?" he said, and Daryl was practically writhing all without moving a muscle. She at least had the decency to falter at that, the already stiff smile slipping before she walked away. "You kick her dog or something? Because I can feel that ice all the way over here, man."

"I don't even know her," he muttered, because denial was safest and if he could think of all the people he'd want to talk to about this, Ray would fall somewhere between Merle and Beth's sister. But judging from her sudden glare, Beth had heard him, her glass she was pouring into spilling out onto her hand before she realized what she was doing. Great. Why the fuck not just kick her dog next, while he was at it? "Let's just get on with this."

"You got what you owe me?" he asked, and any kind of deceitful charm was gone now.

Daryl didn't answer, reaching into his pocket, giving the security a look when he tensed at the move. He placed the money on the table and slid it over. He watched as Ray took it, obviously surprised speculation on his face. "I give you all of this, you don't sell to my brother anymore. Got it?"

Beth was listening, he knew. Not even trying to be discrete, hovering around them with someone else's drinks in her hands. But he couldn't look at her, couldn't even spare a second of attention. Ray picked up the money, thumbing through the corners of the bills.

"Your brother's been a pretty loyal customer," he said slowly, measuring every word before putting the money back on the table and covering it with his hand. "I'll hate to see him go."

"Yeah, he's a heartbreaker," he muttered. "We done here?"

"Can't say that Merle won't try and buy from me," Ray said, finishing his beer and putting it back on the bar for Beth to collect. She did so slowly, not replacing it with another.

"What I just fuckin' say?" he snapped before he could help himself. "You get cash. You don't sell to him. Any part of that confusin'?"

He'd said too much, he knew, but he couldn't keep his damn mouth closed, still so on edge from Beth throwing suspicious looks at him every few seconds. He could sense Ray's anger next to him, but there was nothing he could do to take his words back.

"Listen. I'm big here on second chances," he said, and slid in close enough to make Daryl's spine tingle. "But you talk to me like that again and you'll wish you hadn't."

He almost wanted to laugh, it was such bullshit. This guy wasn't shit, a small time asshole who was playing at the big leagues. Such a fucking cliche wrapped in a stereotype, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Drying Merle out wasn't an easy process. He wasn't even sure it was something he was actually attempting to do, because it was hard and probably pointless. But one less guy for him to buy from, one less hole to plug in the sinking ship his brother had become. "I hear you," he said quietly, but he knew Beth could hear, not even keeping up the pretense of serving anyone else. As if this could get any worse.

"Good," Ray said, clapping him on the back hard enough to shove Daryl forward in his seat. He winced with the effort of holding back, everything left of his pride getting ripped to shreds even smaller than before. "Glad to hear you're more of a team player than your brother."

Rolling with the punches as best he could. He only nodded, flicking his eyes up to see Beth finally looking at him, big doe eyes as wide as they could go. She seemed near to saying something, and ever so slightly he shook his head at her. _Don't_. "We done?"

"Until next time," he said ominously, but Daryl wasn't even concerned, too relieved that this hadn't end up turning into anything physical. A minute later, Ray and his beef were gone. Over. Relatively without a hitch. He sat there, not quite able to feel relieved. Beth had never gotten him a drink, and she had already reverted back to ignoring him, though at least now she didn't look quite so irritated about it. But still. Not a lot he had to stay here for. He couldn't fix this, not in anyway he could see, and even if he could he wasn't sure if he wanted to.

So he stopped trying to catch her eye, picking up his keys with a clatter. He saw her stiffen a little at the sound, maybe even glanced at him from the corner of her eye, but when she didn't make anymore moves he stood up. This was over. Time to go the fuck home.

* * *

It took the better part of the next day for Beth to work up the nerve to come back to the seedy apartment where she'd taken Daryl only days ago. She was standing in front of the door that the guy at the front desk had told her was Daryl's, and she didn't even really want to be here. Everything he'd said was fresh on her mind. The way he'd spoken to her, the hot fury she'd seen. Worse, that it hadn't even looked odd on him. He seemed to kind of revel in it, digging his heels and fingers to delve deeper in his own anger instead of just talking to her.

She leaned against the rail opposite his door with a sigh. He was on the second floor, so she wouldn't exactly have an easy escape. If she needed one. That was if she even knocked in the first place, which she was finding to be one of the harder things she'd had to deal with over the last few hours. Besides being up for most of the night both because of a screaming Violet and the words and looks from Daryl that she'd been playing over in her mind, Maggie had texted her, asking for another meeting. So that storm was brewing, but she was here instead, trying to get the nerve to act. Which shouldn't even be so terribly difficult.

She stared at the _Do Not Disturb_ sign hanging from the knob, which wasn't surprising but also wasn't making her feel anymore welcome. Getting his room number from the front desk had been easy enough - she generally had a pretty good idea of how to get people to say yes to her, and she was aware that she really didn't give the impression of being able to cause any trouble - but now being here she was even less sure that this was a good idea at all. But, despite all the anger she was still harboring, she was worried. She'd seen the deal, had seen how much he hated it and how he'd probably been about three words away from getting the living daylights punched out of him, and even though she was still more than a little upset with how he'd spoken to her, she was trying to understand that these circumstances weren't normal.

Or maybe they were. Maybe she had no idea. But she was about to find out.

She rapped her knuckles against the door, timid at first but then harder. She knew he was inside, could hear his voice along with someone else's unintelligible through the door. The voices didn't even pause at her knocking, and she tried again, this time banging the side of her fist so that the wood thudded. Now the voices stopped, and she heard footsteps coming towards her.

"Don't want no fuckin' maid service. Didn't you read the damn -" The door swung open in the middle of his sentence. Daryl broke off when he saw her there, not seeming to even recognize her at first. If she had any hopes that he would soften when he saw it was her, they were dashed as his face hardened into something even angrier than before. "The fuck you doing here?" he asked, and his mouth curled around the words distastefully.

She opened her mouth, but her voice was suddenly gone, her lungs refusing to push any air into her words. She swallowed hard, looking down and fisting her keys so hard they hurt the palm of her hand. "I asked 'em what room you were in," she finally said, but a loud crash from within lead her to look behind him. She barely had time to see a body moving before he was blocking her view.

"Didn't ask how. Asked why." Before she could answer, a hand appeared over his head on the door, forcing it open, and then a man who she recognized as Merle came looming over them. He looked terrible, pale but red faced, blue eyes that she recognized from Daryl. He looked her up and down in a way she didn't like at all, ignoring Daryl's attempts to elbow him into the background. A distinctly musty smell came out in a sudden wave with his arrival, and it took effort not to scrunch her nose.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, looking from her to him and back again. He didn't recognize her. She wasn't sure what to make of that. "Now I know why my brother ain't been comin' home."

She wasn't sure what to do. Daryl wasn't looking at either of them, seeming resigned to what was happening. Both their clothes were rumpled, making her wonder if they'd gotten into some sort of scuffle before her arrival, which didn't make this approach any easier. She picked up a hand, starting to reach up for a handshake before changing her mind, waving instead. "I'm Beth," she said, years of taught politeness kicking in. "We actually met -"

"Beth," he repeated, making her name sound so dirty it could've been a swear. She tried to smile, but it felt so fake that she dropped it. Another attempt at eye contact with Daryl proved futile, so she was left to stand there and be scrutinized. Merle finally stopped looking at her, only to turn that stare down at Daryl. "The hell you stick your dick into this time, bro?"

_This time_. Daryl turned red, but it was nothing to the flames that covered her cheeks. Thankfully, she didn't have to come up with anything to say asDaryl at last managed to beat Merle back into the room, shoving him back so he could step outside with her and close the door.

He faced her, his shoulders rising and falling heavily and his eyes darting. Out in the light, she could see what looked like another bruise forming over the last one, blooming yellow. She wanted to ask, but the tension was unbelievable, and finally she thought she must have understood how he felt standing in her living room. She tried to give him a watery smile, because maybe there was a chance this could turn funny just because of how awful it was, but he didn't return it, lifting his eyes to glare at her. "So?"

She was so surprised by the way he was looking at her and distracted by his face that she almost didn't hear the question. "So what?"

"You just come here to stare?" he asked, and he sounded purely venomous, wound up and ready to strike.

"Your cheek," she started, but it was absolutely the wrong thing to say. "I - I thought you might - I was worried -" she stuttered, but she was so shocked and nervous that she felt tears coming to her eyes. She wiped them away, but that only seemed to make him worse.

"Nobody asked you to be worried! You wanna fix somethin' why don't ya start with your own damn family?" He was biting the words, shouting now in a way that was completely unfamiliar to her. She didn't have any words to say, staring at his chest until he turned away. He paced a couple steps, and when he looked back at her his chest was heaving with the words he wasn't saying. When he spoke again, it was quieter, but all the anger was still there mixed with the same exhaustion she had seen in him that first night. "Find your place, 'cause it sure as shit ain't here."

And for the first time, it didn't sound like a lie. She was completely out of her depth here, and what she'd been telling herself all along finally felt true: she didn't _know _him. She didn't have some deeper understanding. She had a kiss and a smile, a nap and a baby. She didn't have him. So she said nothing, walking away from him just like she had back at the bar when he'd lashed out at her.

She didn't look back this time, either.

**We'll find out more about what was going on at the end there next chapter. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Sorry this is up so late in the day. What happened was I had a very different kind of chapter planned originally but what I ended up writing took a turn and I just kind of had to roll with it pls don't hate me. **

"You fuck her yet?"

Merle had been smoking some pot while Daryl was outside. The room smelled like shit, even worse than before, but it'd helped him chill out some. A tinfoil bowl was putting up smoke on the table, ashes leaving marks on the wood.

"Can't you do that in the shower?" Daryl asked, rubbing his cheek. It was still raw from where Merle had managed to get a punch in earlier. "At least I won't have to smell it, then."

Merle took a long hit, his eyes rolling back a little, his body falling languid. "Bet she's a virgin. Girls like that always are."

"Like you'd know," Daryl said. He was still swimming a little from the day's events. Wasn't even fucking noon yet and he'd already been punched and made a girl cry. It didn't help that he knew what had happened with Beth was bad. Very bad. Maybe even worse than Merle.

"Oh, I know, brother. Tight little things, lookin' all wide at ya," he said, and made some lewd noise before breaking into a long laugh. "So? You fuck her?"

"Haven't touched her," he said, and it was true enough for what he was talking about. He watched the smoke as it flooded towards the ceiling, considering getting up to open a window.

"Yeah, right. She just drove up here 'cause she _likes_ you," he said, crooning the word before looking at him more seriously. "You didn't used to lie to me, boy. We're kin."

"Didn't fuckin' lie to you. Just tried to dry you out a bit." Also true enough. From what he'd gathered of Merle screaming at him that morning, Merle had chosen last night to hit Ray up for himself considering the lack of Daryl's success. Ray, little piece of sunshine he was, had decided to tell him that Daryl had paid him to cut Merle off. Which went over about as well as he would've expected. But at least Merle's anger was short lived. Like a flame, burning hot but quickly extinguished. He couldn't say the same for Beth.

"Shoulda just done like you was told." Another hit. He was staring at the TV as if something was on.

Maybe he should've done what he was told. Making his own decisions hasn't gotten him very far.

But he still had one more he needed to make.

He sat up, checking to make sure the keys to the bike were still in his pocket.

"The fuck you fixin' off to?" Merle asked as Daryl stood up, his eyes following him as he moved to the door.

"I'm takin' the bike," he said, and didn't wait for a response before he was gone. He didn't want to answer questions, and he had a good feeling Merle wouldn't care enough to ask anyways. And, even if he did, he had some bigger fish to fry.

* * *

The trailer looked a lot bigger than it had the first time Daryl'd come here. He even stared at it for a while, trying to gauge if it had somehow grown. And if looking at it was hard, knocking on the door was impossible. He briefly considered texting her, but he was already here, and the idea that she could just as easily reject him as agree to see him was too big a gamble to take.

So he forced himself to go up the porch, forced himself to knock. Forced himself to wait for her to answer the door.

Brief footsteps, and then the door opened. But it wasn't Beth. This girl looked about the same age, but olive skinned, dark hair instead of blonde. She blinked when she saw him, keeping the screen door closed.

The mom. Sarah, he thought he remembered Beth saying.

Fuck. He stood in the door while she stared at him suspiciously through the screen. He'd been so busy trying to grow some emergency balls to come here at all that he hadn't even fucking thought on her not being here in the first place. He turned sideways to look for her car in the drive, but sure enough it was gone. How the hell had he missed that?

"Can I help you?" she asked, her eyes flicking up and down his form, hand on the door ready to slam it shut.

"Was lookin' for Beth," he mumbled, the words coming so sloppily that he wasn't even sure he was making any sense.

"Did you say Beth?" she asked, and looked slightly mollified at hearing her name, letting the door open more so he could actually see inside. "Beth Greene?"

"Yeah," he confirmed lamely, looking past her at the couch still covered in sheets that looked freshly rumpled. Wherever Beth was, she hadn't been there long.

She nodded her head while she waited for him to explain more, lips pressed in a tight line. "She isn't here."

"Yeah," he repeated, still looking at the couch. He wanted to ask when she would be back, or where she was, but he wasn't her keeper and it wasn't really his business to care about either of those things. He stepped back from the door, wondering if leaving without saying goodbye would be too out of the question, but then she spoke.

"You're the guy from the bar," she said like it was a revelation, nodding again but this time with satisfied understanding. "Yeah. I can see it now."

He didn't answer, partially because he wasn't too keen on being Guy from Bar and partially because if he tried to parse through that question he might figure out there was some other Guy filling that role.

She frowned at his silence. "Sorry. Just nice to put a face to it."

Now she was looking at him curiously, the screen door like a cage at the zoo. "I got somewhere to be," he said, again too quiet, and he wasn't sure if a single word he'd spoken on this trainwreck of a mission had been intelligible.

She held up her hands in apologetic surrender, then went to shut the door. She stopped about halfway, looking at him. "Want me to tell her you were here?"

He was shaking his head no before he could even think about it. "Nah."

She half shrugged. "Suit yourself," she said, and finally the door was shut and he was free to go.

But free to go where? He had Merle's bike, so he was at least seventy five percent sure he'd still be in their apartment, and he wasn't about to go back just to smell like weed for the next three days. So that was the apartment gone. He was hungry, kinda. Or, more accurately, there was a hole in his stomach that he felt like he could fill.

But not with food. And suddenly the decision of where to go felt much simpler.

* * *

Daryl spent that day drinking.

Drinking to burn away the shitty taste in his mouth leftover from the last twelve hours, to burn away the fact that Beth hadn't even been there to hear whatever bullshit he could make come out of his mouth. Didn't even have a chance to explain. Explain what, he wasn't sure. Wasn't like he could do anything but own up to it. But he'd been doing a semi okay job of keeping her and the rest of his shit life separate since he'd met her, and she had to understand that having the two meet - and in front of fucking Merle, no less - was the opposite of what he'd wanted. He wasn't even sure what she'd seen of the apartment room, what she'd thought of Merle. The fucking vivid reality of it all. And seeing her react that way just served to reinforce everything he already knew: that this fucking blew, and it blew hard.

Besides, t was only liquor. If Merle was fine punching him for holding back some ecstasy, he could rationalize drinking a little bit. Who fucking cared if he started before noon? Who even really gave a shit?

_Beth_. She would care. But he'd fucked that up, and all damn day she'd been popping up in his head in one form or another - her eyes, her smile, and then her ass, or maybe the way she laughed - all swirling together in one giant middle finger. It had driven him up a fucking wall, and finally when the sky turned to dusk and he hadn't managed to drink her away he'd found it infuriating enough to bring him back to Earl's.

So that was where he was. He'd been sitting in the parking lot for at least an hour, waiting to see her. He was still a little drunk, because he'd only stopped drinking when he realized he wanted - needed - to come here. To come to this goddamn bar for the goddamn girl. He wasn't even sure how he'd made it without killing himself, if he was honest. Shitty luck should've had him dead on the road, because even he was able to admit that he shouldn't've been driving. But he'd made it, and actually remembered to check to see if her car was here, and when he saw that it was he'd decided that he would wait.

He did wait. He waited while the burn of drinking turned dull, while he slowly regained at least majority control of his limbs, while the moon centered overhead and the bar emptied out. He watched through the window as she stacked chairs on top of tables, and finally, he watched as she and a couple other workers came out and said their goodbyes.

He wasn't even sure she would see him, or what he would do if she didn't. Go to her car? Stand at the exit to stop her from leaving?

But she did see him, stopping short when she did, doing a double take before a weary expression came on her face, even more pronounced on her eyes that seemed a little smaller with exhaustion. She hesitated, and he could see her thoughts as they formed, the tight frown of irritation on her mouth followed by a pursing of reluctant curiosity. She looked towards her car, then at him, and finally the curiosity seemed to win because she walked over to him, hitching her purse higher on her shoulder.

She stopped when she was a couple feet in front of him, looking at him expectantly. "What are you doin' here?"

He was beginning to regret not thinking this through. She was finally standing right in front of him, but all he could see was her face from when he'd verbally beat her down. But maybe she'd gotten over it. Maybe it hadn't been as bad as it seemed.

"You just come here to stare?" she asked, and the words were so sharp and cutting that it was like knives being thrown back at his face.

He looked down, nodding his head. He deserved that. "S'fair," he said, but couldn't come up with anything else. Not a single goddamn word. He could feel her frustration mounting, coming off her in waves, and it only edged his own. Why had he come here? What was the point? What was he even trying to fix anymore? He'd been trying to fix things for days and all he had was the broken leftovers hanging all over his shoulders, the same shoulders he could feel falling now. He could turn around, and maybe go back home, or some other bar, and drink until the world fuzzed out again and he couldn't see straight. But looking at her, he felt that same question that came popping up around her: go home to what?

"Well?" she asked, and he could see it in her stance when the anger started to fade a little, her hands fiddling, and when he chanced a look at her face her eyes had turned sad, lines of worry on her forehead. "Are you okay?" She stepped closer, and he watched as on her next breath her nose wrinkled and she looked down at his shaking hands. Another step, close enough so that when she reached out her hand she almost touched him.

He recoiled. If she touched him here when everything was sharp and raw he was fairly certain that would be the end. She didn't react well, drawing back and making herself smaller with feet locked together and shoulders turned away from him defensively. "You're drunk. Or you were. I can smell it on you."

There was no point in lying. He felt defensive of it anyways, because she seemed so openly disappointed all over again.

She didn't try to touch him again, and it was a couple more seconds that felt like they dragged into minutes before she spoke. "What do you want from me, Daryl?" she asked, sounding completely exasperated and tired and a dozen other things that he hadn't noticed on her before he'd dragged her down.

A lift of his shoulders, and finally he looked at her. She really was pretty, even as distraught as she was, blue eyes darker in the night and hair made silver. "Nothin'." That wasn't exactly true. But it was the closest approximation he could come up with.

She stared at him for a beat, then shrugged. "Great. G'night, then," she said, and turned around to walk to her car.

"Don't take it so damn personal. Shit," he said, and it wasn't exactly what he'd wanted to say but it got her to at least stop walking away. "It don't mean anythin'."

She whirled, and finally she sounded as cut up as he felt. "'Don't take it personal'? That's what you got for me?"

She was angrier than before, the opposite of what he'd wanted when he'd come here, but the words came out of him with no effort or thought. "Dunno what you were expectin'. Didn't tell you to come to my place." He hadn't planned on this, on just splashing up the already turbulent water to make more of a mess, but it wasn't something he felt he had a ton of control over. "You did that by yourself."

"Yeah. Cause I cared," she said, matching his volume, her words hot with anger. She took a deep breath, her arms crossing. "You could start with sorry."

"Didn't do nothin' wrong." He didn't even know where the words were coming from. He hadn't come here to egg her on or dig his own grave deeper. He didn't know why the fuck he'd come here at all.

"You actually believe that?" she said, studying him before shaking her head. "You don't. You're lyin'."

He said nothing, waiting for whatever conclusion she seemed about to come to, but for once she was the one who left him hanging in silence. Staring him down and standing him off. Not even giving him some words he could use to climb out of the hole he'd created for himself.

But her patience only wore for what felt like a few seconds. "You won't even tell me what you're doing here. Why come here? Why wait if you don't even think you have something to say?" She sighed, putting a hand at her temple to rub it with two fingers. "Look. I know you were at the house earlier. Sarah told me. I thought that-"

"You weren't there," he said. Because it felt like an excuse. Maybe if she'd been there this could've been fixed earlier. Maybe he wouldn't have put enough scotch in his blood to drown someone in.

"I know," she said softly. "I was at home. I can't even go there anymore because my dad drank on his feelings and lied about it, too."

Too much. That was too much, and she'd just slapped him across the face with it like it was nothing. Honesty to the brim, overflowing onto him. "Beth-"

"You were right. I gotta worry about my own family."

This had all gone so pisspoor, so horribly fucking wrong that he even he was having a hard time keeping up with exactly where he'd fucked up so badly. This wasn't even rolling with the punches anymore. This was face first in the dirt with his ass still getting kicked. He didn't say anything, and then she was gone, walking away, and how was she not looking back to see him melting onto the concrete?

He still hadn't moved when he realized the parking lot was empty, reaching into his pocket for a smoke before remembering he didn't even have any on him, all smoked while he was waiting for her. He didn't have shit. Not a brother, at least not one that was there. Not money. And least of all, he didn't have this, or her.

There was nothing, and he fell into it hard.

**I knooooooow this was dark and things seem kind of hopeless now but I just kind of felt like things need to get kind of shitty for both of them. I'm also sorry if the quality of this one isn't quite right - I wanted to keep my promise and that required some faster writing than I normally do, and my beta is currently out of commission. I do believe next chapter will have happier times. Wink wink. To preview: An explanation, and an apology in the form of a gesture. **


	13. Chapter 13

**and here we are. Sorry - I really did mean for this to be up earlier but currently in the process of moving and I'm honestly just terrible at multitasking. So. But happier times are ahead, enjoy it!**

It sucked even worse than Daryl would've thought. It didn't make a ton of sense for him to be this fucked up over a damn girl. A fucking kid. But since that night at the bar he'd felt his life split very distinctly in two, and he hadn't known until now that the first part had been Before Beth.

The after Beth was possibly shittier.

That had been three days ago. He'd been stuck ever since. He couldn't go back to that bar. Didn't even feel like going anywhere else. Maybe he could've at least been drinking, because that would be doing _something_, but he couldn't even do that without remembering what she'd said to him. For all the shit she'd said, throwing her daddy issues on him was the worst. So instead he'd just been watching TV. Eating shit. Listening to Merle's commentary and pretending this was fine, since this is what they did, anyways.

What they did before Beth, anyhow.

It was early, sun just starting to break up the stars. He hadn't slept tonight. Or at all, really. Just an hour here and there when his thoughts weren't racing with her. He couldn't shut it off. Constantly, he was being punched with these _maybe_'s. Things he could do. Things he could've done differently. Anything just to erase the shitstorm.

Could text her, maybe. He still had her number on his phone. But that didn't feel right. What the hell was he gonna say in a text when he couldn't even picture seeing her without remembering the shit he'd done?

She'd work again at some point. Could swing by there.

_Since that worked out so good last time_.

Or he could leave it. They didn't even really have to stay here past the end of the week, if he didn't want to. Merle'd moved them around enough for it to seem like his idea if Daryl just planted the seed. He needed a car, or something, but after that… He didn't have to stay, or see her again if he didn't want to. Could roll up her whole existence nice and neat and forget about it altogether. He could do that. He could. It wouldn't be easy. But it was there.

All these options. He stretched out on his bed, gnawing at his nail. He was supposed to do a job today - some gig cleaning out gutters - and he felt like time was running short.

Then he remembered. She'd asked him about this, about doing something with their yard. Make it look closer to white trash paradise. She'd asked him before she'd hated him, when he was just some guy in her house who she'd kissed that one time. But she'd asked him for something. Something he could actually give her this time.

And he would.

Once he'd decided to move, the rest wasn't hard. It was even simple. Borrowed a truck from work that he'd be taking later that day anyways, tools already in the bed. He chose a peach tree from the store- they were in season now and she wouldn't have to do much with it. And he thought she'd like peaches, probably. When he'd seen it, he knew she'd like it, the whole damn thing covered in pink blooms. And it was still early, only seven, the sun not even warm yet, so his chances were good she wouldn't even be up. Might even be able to get in and out without her seeing him at all.

Or maybe he wanted to see her. To show her that he was capable of doing something without fucking it up. That it wasn't all the same for him.

He thought about that while he drove, about what he was planning or if he even had an endgame of some kind. Maybe this wasn't going to be enough. Maybe there was a line that couldn't be fixed up again after he'd broken it. Shit had turned out alright for him so far without her. He was alive. He had clothes on his back. He would be alive if she didn't want him there.

It had only been a week, for Christ's sake. A week that he'd known her. Nothing was permanent, or even close to it. He didn't _need_ this.

But he wanted it. And he thought maybe that was worse.

When he pulled up to her place, the lights were off, and her car was the only one in the drive. At least she was home this time. Already one step ahead.

He tried to be quiet while he unloaded the truck, watching the windows for any lights to come on. And then he worked.

It took him longer than he thought. The dirt underneath the grass was hard and rocky, and by the time he'd worked a hole in it and dumped the tree in with the roots covered, the sun was overhead. He was just finishing up, patting the dirt down flat with the shovel and standing back to look at what he'd done when the door opened.

Beth. He felt his lungs deflate as he saw her, his hands tightening on the shovel. She froze in the doorway, the stain of sleep all over her as a yawn took her face. She blinked, squinting a little. "Daryl?"

He stood up straighter at the sound of her voice, and whatever nerves he'd worked away came back tenfold. He didn't want to see her after all, he decided. He hated this already, standing in front of her and waiting for the judgement to fall. The only thing stronger than not wanting to be here, though, was needing to be. To fix it, if he could, so that maybe there weren't so many pieces of what he'd broken littering the ground. "I wake you?"

She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself, dazed at the bright light of outside. Mismatched socks were on her feet, her hair untamed around her face. "It's noon," she said, sounding surprised as she looked at her phone, scratching the side of her head. "I heard the noise…" Only then did she seem to see the tree at all, her eyes widening. "What is that?" she asked, sounding much more awake as she jogged down the stairs and padded across the yard. She looked at him before examining the tree, walking the circumference of it with her hand out to touch the leaves. She stopped when she'd done a 360, standing back in front of him.

He planted the shovel into the ground so that he could rest his foot on it. "It's a-"

"Peach tree," she interrupted, leaning in to examine one of the blooms. "We had these at my house when I was younger." She smiled at it fondly before stepping back so that she could give him a confused look. "You did this?"

He lifted one shoulder. "Ya asked me to."

She seemed amused as well as confused, which he guessed wasn't the worst thing she could be feeling right now. "Yeah. I did. Didn't think you were really listenin', though."

"I was listenin'," he said, looking at her face. Taking her in. Seeing what it felt like to stand here in front of her and not have her hating him. Trying to ease the image of her crying at him. Screaming at him. Walking away from him. "Said maybe I would."

She gave him a side eye, her hand still on the branch. "This supposed to be your apology or somethin'?"

"Or somethin'." It was an apology, sorta. "It don't need much. Just sun. Needs fertilizer n a couple weeks, but-" He trailed off. A couple weeks was a long time from now. "I could do it. If you don't wanna."

She looked like she was thinking over his words, staring blankly at his truck, her forehead starting to dew in the heat. She looked up, shielding her eyes and stepping back so she could see all the branches. "Do you watch a lot of romance movies when you're not riding on a motorcycle brooding?" she asked, putting her hand down so she could look his way with a teasing smile.

"Ain't a big deal," he mumbled. "Just a damn tree."

She stared at him, and finally she was smiling at him again instead of crying. "Just a tree that you planted."

He shrugged. "Asked me to do it, so I did." He sniffed, wiping his face with the back of his arm. "Didn't say it was free."

She crossed her arms, cocking her head. "Didn't say I would pay you."

"Looks like we got a problem, then."

She smiled wider, but then it faded a little, and she looked back at the tree, reaching up to touch one of the blossoms. "This was nice of you. Sweet."

Just from her tone he knew there was a _but_. There always was. He waited for it, the dread of the unfinished words she had yet to choose hanging in the air.

"I'm still not real sure what you're doin' here." She dropped her hand, wiping it on her shirt. "Unless you just got a hankerin' for plantin' somethin'."

He leaned heavier onto the shovel, the blade sinking a couple more inches. "Just…" It was so fucking hot. He was sweating all over, soaking through his clothes, his hair sticking along his forehead. He felt especially dirty looking at her, who's skin seemed like it'd never been touched, practically reflecting the sun. "Ain't like how ya said."

She furrowed her brow a little. "Which part?"

"All of it." Shirt stuck to his back, hands caked with dirt and new blisters forming sensitive and raw on his palm. He wanted so badly for this part to just be done.

She hardened a bit, recrossing her arms. "So you weren't drinkin'?"

"I was hammered," he said, not looking away now. _Take it or leave it, Blondie_.

Her arms tightened. "Then you didn't lie?"

"Told you I didn't want to do the deal. Didn't say I wasn't gonna do it anyways." Which was the truth, at least.

She sucked in her cheek to chew at it, looking back at the tree.

"Merle's… Merle," he continued, and he'd meant it as an explanation but couldn't really come up with anything that could really get his point across other than just stating the obvious. "He's-"

"Your brother," she interrupted. "I know what family means."

She didn't, though. Not really. Couldn't know what it meant in the realest, most desperate sense of the word. But he wasn't about to bring that up. "Yeah."

She looked even more hesitant to speak now. At some point, she'd drifted closer to him, and when she looked up at him she had to blink away the sun in her eyes. "The drinkin'-"

"Ain't how it is." He swallowed. It had to be pushing a hundred degrees by now, and he felt it all over, fire burning through his skin. "Only time I been drunk the past week was with you."

She looked down, her cheeks pink from either what he'd said or the heat. She pursed her lips, and then nodded her head, and when she looked up at him she seemed resolved. "You wanna come in?" she asked, digging her foot into the upturned dirt and smiling as her eyes circled his face. "You're a mess," she added, and reached up to push his hair back from where it was curling into his eyes, leaning to the tips of her toes to reach.

He didn't flinch. "If you want."

"C'mon, then," she said, nodding back towards the door, swiveling on her feet. She walked back to the house, looking back over to see if he was coming. Which he was. Because it was about a hundred times better to watch her walk away when she was asking him to follow. Even stepping through the door felt less uncomfortable than it had the last time he'd been here.

"No one else is here," she said, closing the door behind him and moving past to the kitchen. "I'll get you some water."

Not knowing what else to do, he kept following her, finding the same spot as last time to lean against the counter and watch. She got two glasses, and once she'd handed him his she sat on the counter across from him, stretching her legs out so that her toes almost touched him.

He downed half the glass, wiping his mouth and looking around when he was done. "Heard you went home."

She sighed. "Yeah. My sister - she doesn't get it," she finished, taking a little sip. "I can't go back there. And I can take care of myself."

She sounded so defiant, so sure of herself, and, if he was being honest, young, that he smiled. She caught it, smiling back and kicking her legs out to him again. "What's funny?"

"How old are you, girl?" he asked, finishing the water and putting it down on the counter next to him.

She hesitated, and all of a sudden he wasn't sure he wanted to hear her answer. "Eighteen."

He swallowed, mouth dry and sticky despite the water. He nodded, trying to cover it up. It wasn't like this was even all that surprising. He might've even guessed younger. But hearing it straight from the source was different.

"Does that bother you?" she asked, and the insecurity in her voice was finally making her sound her age.

"Dunno," he answered. It was the most honest answer he could give her right now. "I'm here, ain't I?"

"Yeah." She tapped her nails on the glass, heels of her feet bumping against the lower cabinet. "You could've just apologized, you know. Said sorry. I'm big on second chances."

"Sorry," he grunted, a little sarcastically. She grinned again, and gave another kick of her foot, but this time he caught her heel in his hand. He yanked her leg so that she was pulled to the edge of the counter with a laughing shriek of his name.

"Let go!" she cried, her fingers curling over the corner of the linoleum to try and hold herself in place, her leg protesting in a weak yank of its own in the opposite direction, pulling him from his spot.

He did as she asked, but now he was closer to her, just an arm's length away. Leftover giggles were flowing from her, eyes bright. She pushed a hand through her hair so that it was back from her face, and then, still laughing, reached out to him, hand just grazing the chest of his shirt. She rolled her eyes when he didn't move closer for her reach.

"Daryl," she chided, and when her hand fell he followed it so that he was standing in front of her knees. He just kept following her, following where she went and what she said and what she wanted, and now he was here, looking at her eyes as they glanced down towards his mouth.

His hands touched the tops of her thighs, just for a second, but she responded all the same, her fingers pulling at the hem of his shirt. He almost wanted to call a timeout; this wasn't what he'd come here for, at fucking all, and he needed to think about this - needed hours, days, weeks just to process what this was. It wasn't even just her age that was stopping him. That was part of it, but a small part. But she had to know that already. She saw right through him.

He only had seconds to try to convey this to her, but suddenly he didn't even have that, because she was just so close to him, and she smelled a little like the peaches he'd just planted outside, something fruity from her chapstick. Air fanned onto an open flame; he was on fire just under his skin, and even as she inched forward he was wondering how she couldn't feel it. She was leaning forward, stopping inches away from him, but this time he was the one to reach out, putting his hand rough on the side of her neck and yanking her to him. Her glass of water fell to the floor and shattered, and he felt the cold wetness of it seeping into his shoes, but he didn't care. This wasn't even hard, either, and it felt almost natural to pull her face to his to kiss her, her hands swinging up to fist into his shirt with the suddenness of it. Their teeth clicked it was so sloppy and unpracticed, and without even really noticing he was tasting her, feeling along her tongue and painting their kiss with the cherry flavor of her chapstick. He pushed his hand through her hair in the back of her head, and _fuck_ her hair was just as soft as it looked. Everything about her was soft. Maybe this whole thing was a fever dream brought on by the heat, and he was just passed out in her yard right now thinking of peaches, but right now he was tasting Beth and cherries and it didn't fucking matter the circumstance.

She was the one to push away, her hand flattening on his chest as she extended her arm and the distance between them. Like before, his lungs were on fire, but this time it was with her, flames that burned as blue as her eyes. His hand, now hanging in mid air, was shaking, and just a cursory glance at her let him know she was searching for air, too.

Her hand on his chest slid up to his cheek, her thumb running along his lips. She smiled softly, nothing discernable on her face. "You gonna run off now?"

His hand fell to the counter, flattening his palm against it to keep him steady. His arms were starting to ache, and he was distinctly aware that the situation in his pants was going to become an obvious one if he didn't chill the fuck out. "No."

"Good," she said, dropping her hand. "Then help me clean this up."

He was still warm from outside, and he thought he could feel his shoulders burning, but it was more intense now. Not just his skin that was hot, but everything, warmth settling into his stomach and easing the ache he'd felt there these last few days. It felt nice. Good, even. And even now, just looking at her smiling up at him and feeling her foot hook around the back of his knee, he thought this might be what forgiveness felt like.

**Too sappy? Oh, well. I've had this kiss written for around... three chapters? And have been basically dying to put it in. But slow and steady, guys. Slow and steady... (I'm completely lying. I'm terrible at being patient with slow burns.)**


	14. Chapter 14

**It's four in the morning. Please excuse typos. This isn't a very long chapter, but something is better than nothing, right? And I thought it made sense for this to be shorter. **

**p.s. boondocks-s: I love stories like that. True love exists **

**p.s.s. I think it would probably wise to get a beta for this story. So, if you're interested, please let me know with a PM. **

The glass had gotten everywhere.

"You didn't have to knock the cup outta my hand," Beth teased as she helped him gather the bigger shards and drop them in the trash. "Don't have to be so dramatic all the time."

Daryl grunted in response, the words he was thinking of too sharp to fit in this context. He was still on his hands and knees when Beth grabbed a broom from the corner and started sweeping around him, gathering up everything they hadn't been able to get with their hands. "There are some wash rags in that drawer right there. To your left. Dry up some of the water, would you?"

He did as she asked, trying to make his blood start flowing normally again, make his hands and just all his limbs less clumsy just for being around her, but the kiss was still all too fresh on his mind.

"So," she said when she was done, dumping the trash putting the broom back against the wall. "What now?"

She was asking him? "Dunno." He looked around, having a hard time making his eyes stay on her. "Work later."

"When's later?"

"Three. Gotta have the truck back then, anyways." He tossed the rag towards the sink.

"That's hours from now." She opened the fridge, bending over to check the contents, putting her ass out towards him. Not even on purpose, he didn't think. But it was there. Maybe he could kiss her again. Or was that a one-off? A once a week type deal? "There's not much for cookin'. Do you want to go eat somewhere? I know a place," she said, standing back up straight and looking at him, lacing her hands behind her back.

He opened his mouth to answer, but then they both heard the screen door opening, followed by a quick, rapid knock on the door. He looked at Beth for an answer, but she seemed confused, too, gesturing for him to wait while she went to open the door.

He waited, but then there was silence.

"What are you doin' here?" he heard her say after a couple beats, her voice shrill and defensive.

But whoever it was didn't answer. What kind of trouble had this girl gotten herself into? He walked out of the kitchen, thinking maybe if it was someone sketchy he should make his presence known.

But it wasn't someone sketch. It was worse. The sister. He couldn't even remember her name. She was standing just inside the door, clearly having pushed her way in without Beth's invitation. When she saw Daryl, she went stock still, then crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. Beth had stepped back so she was standing between him and her, but still he felt stranded, no allies or outs in sight.

"Maggie," Beth said, and even though it seemed like she had more words to say she stopped there. She sounded scared, which didn't make him feel any better. He stood up straight slowly, his shoes squelching from the wet floor as he turned so that he wasn't facing Beth anymore. Trying to separate them a little. As if that made any of this less incriminating. He was quickly becoming aware of what this looked like, and what it looked like wasn't even an unfair assumption.

Maggie was nailing him with a hard stare like she'd already guessed what he was trying to hide, and he was starting to wonder if it was a family trait just being able to look at him and know what was up. "You won't come home. Didn't give me too much a choice, did you?" she asked, and finally relented to look at Beth instead of him. He immediately took the opportunity to edge further to the wall, but was stopped when Maggie glared at him again. "Who's this?"

Beth looked from him to her, pulling nervously at the beads wrapped around her wrist. "Daryl. Daryl Dixon."

"What's he doin' here?" The suspicion was all over her face, the distaste clear.

Maybe it was time to speak for himself. He cleared his throat, and pointed in the general direction of outside before he realized that wasn't going to be enough of an explanation. "Doin' some yardwork."

"He planted the peach tree," Beth said quickly, and from her voice he thought she'd recovered a little bit, injecting some innocent happiness in her tone. "We used to grow 'em, remember, Mags?"

She turned back to Beth, and he felt physically relieved. There was some story he knew, about the bitch with snakes for hair that could turn you to stone from looking at you. He was thinking Maggie and her would probably have a lot in common. "Yeah, I remember. We grew them at _home_," she said, and Daryl thought he might be getting some kind of sense of this family. "I need to talk to you. Alone," she added pointedly, flashing him another look. Dismissing him.

He turned to Beth, looking for some kind of signal, but she just looked kind of lost. He knew that feeling. How overbearing big siblings could be. "Alright," he agreed. "I'll, uh, see -" Maggie's head whipped toward him when he spoke, and he changed sentences midcourse with all the grace he could expect from himself. "Bye," he finished, and walked out the door quickly, staring at the floor the whole way. As soon as the door shut behind him, he was almost relieved, but it was ruined by a lingering sense of guilt at leaving her there where she so obviously didn't want to be, and then something worse: he wanted to know what was about to go down in that house. So instead of going to his truck and driving away, like he should've, he hooked around the wall until he was underneath the living room window. The walls were thin, the glass even worse, and it wasn't even a struggle to listen to them inside.

"So." Maggie's voice. "This is where you decided to be instead of at home. Ain't even sleeping on a bed."

"How'd you even know?" Beth asked, sounding exasperated, her voice still far away. He didn't think she'd moved at all since he'd left.

"Beth, you ain't hard to find. I knew where you were workin'. I knew who you were stayin' with. I don't think you're cut out for runnin' away." No. She wasn't. He'd caught that from the start, though he guessed it wasn't exactly a secret.

"It's real funny," she went on in a voice that made him think she didn't find this funny at all. "I went by your work and they thought you might be with someone named Daryl Dixon. Said you'd been around him a lot lately. Is that some coincident or is that the same man who was here?" She was sarcastic throughout. She'd asked, but only because she already knew the answer. She had some serious upper hand.

"Don't be that way," Beth said, too quickly and defensively to be anything but guilty.

"You really think that's a good idea? I gotta remind you what happened last time you for stressed?"

Daryl blinked. Every word that they said just made it more and more apparent how little he knew, how new she was to him.

"Or are you gonna pretend it didn't happen?" Maggie again, a little quieter this time so that he had to listen close. The words sounded like they were cutting awful close to something, but she was speaking gently. This was something serious, the kind that needed hushed voices and silence.

"Things are different now. They're better." Beth, and she sounded near tears. She paused. "I'm better."

"You call this better? Bein' away from home, workin' at that sleazy bar - and what are you doing inviting someone over like that? He looks twice your age." Another pause. "Maybe twice my age."

"It's nothin'," Beth said, her voice shrill again. "I asked him for some help and he gave it to me. He's not dangerous." He heard footsteps, the sound of a spring cushions succumbing to weight. "I think he needs someone."

"I'm sure he does," she answered with a laugh that sounded like she meant something different. "But it doesn't gotta be you. It can't be you, Beth. You gotta go to school. You have to go _home_. You don't belong here." He heard the couch again. "Shawn's worried he's gonna get a call like last time, only this time you won't be so lucky. Who's helpin' you here?"

"I said I'm better. I ain't gonna do anythin' like that again."

What the hell were they talking about? He was trying to read between the lines, get some kind of glimpse, but they were speaking too quickly and being too vague and not saying anything he was supposed to hear in the first place. He should've left when he said he was going to. He felt shitty just standing here. But this sounded like something he wanted to know. Filling in some holes that he didn't know were there.

"Look, Beth. You're too trusting for your own good. And this guy - _man_ \- is taking advantage of it."

"You don't even know him," she said defensively, and he knew the face she was making from the tone she was using. "Maybe I'm too trusting, but you'd just rather give up on people before you've even give 'em a chance. It's bullshit."

He blinked in surprise. First time he'd heard her swore and it was defending him.

"Besides, you didn't even trust me," she continued. "I go home, you'll just be watching me all the time. It's like living in a zoo. You think I don't notice but I do." Her voice got hotter with anger as she spoke. "Just because I do things different from you doesn't mean I'm wrong."

"So you're just never gonna see us again, is that it? That's your plan?"

"No. I don't know." She sniffed. "With daddy gone I just can't be there anymore."

And then there was more silence. Maybe some hugging was going on. Sisterly love. He wanted to stay and hear more, and maybe they would actually say what big event it was that they'd been dancing around, but he was already pushing his luck. He had no plan B if one of them came outside or, hell, just look out the window. He took off, as indiscreetly as he could manage, thinking about what he's just heard. About if he was allowed to ask, about exactly how appropriate it was for his dick to still be edging so close to hard so long after he'd touched her and all he'd heard after that.

He decided to settle. He'd see her again, after all. Maybe before the day was even done. It was really the only thing he was sure about right now.

**Not quite angst. But we aren't coasting, either. **


	15. Chapter 15

**On time! Again! I'm going a few weeks strong now! I know weekly is much, much slower than some other authors out there - and I've considered doing half chapters (I hear you, Diamond0) - but a chapter is really just going to have to be as long as I need it to be. TL;DR I'm doing the best I can. Thank you for being patient! That being said, this chapter is, again, a little bit short. And, again, it made sense for it to be. I will TRY to get something out before this next weekend to make up for it, deal? Deal. **

Daryl only had to wait a couple hours to hear from Beth, his phone going off in the middle of his shift. The sound still wasn't familiar to him, and it took him a minute to realize it was his phone making the noise and not someone else's.

_Did you leave? _

Kind of obviously, yeah. Not soon enough, he wanted to say. He hesitated on the response, but settled on going easy, figuring this wasn't the easiest way to bring up anything he had heard. If he would ever bring it up at all.

_Yeah_.

It was the most he could manage, thumbs slow and clunky, and by the time he'd snapped his phone shut and put it back in his pocket it was going off again.

_Sorry. Didn't mean to kick you out like that_.

He waited to answer this time, hoping she would text him again and save him the response. Sure enough, her name popped up on his screen a couple seconds later:

_Wanna get that dinner? _

And then, again before he even had time to say yes or no:

_Send me the address of your work. I'll pick you up. _

He gave her what she asked for plus a time, managing it a bit faster this time, and then went back to work, trying not to think about what was coming and whatever she'd have in store for him tonight.

She got there a little early, enough time for her to sit and watch from her car as he helped pack up. He was with a couple other guys. Younger. Closer to Beth's age than his. She waved at them all when she caught them looking, smiling pleasantly. They looked from her to him, maybe trying to spot the family resemblance. He didn't bother telling them that they wouldn't find one, throwing his gloves in the bed and walking to her car without saying anything. She unlocked the door as he approached, moving to shove some things off the front seat so that he could slide in next to her.

"You don't wanna say bye or anythin'?" she asked, and he thought he could maybe hear a teasing note in her voice.

"Just drive," he muttered, and thankfully she did. "Where we goin', anyways?"

"It's a surprise," she said, and he glanced at her in time to see the raised eyebrow look she sent his way. She looked in the rearview mirror while she waited for a chance to turn onto the main road. "They seem nice," she said. "Those boys."

_Nice_. To her, they probably would be. There was probably a whole world out there that was different for her. "They're alright. Just people."

"People can be nice," she said after a pause. "I'm nice, aren't I?"

"Depends on where you're haulin' me off to," he said, watching the side of her mouth he could see curve into a smile, feeling a little ripple of pleasure that he'd caused it.

"No one's haulin' you anywhere," she answered, turning onto a road he'd never been before.

"We'll see when I turn up dead somewhere," he muttered, trying to stretch out a little.

"You turn up dead, it's not gonna have anything to do with me," she tossed back, shooting him another quick smile. A couple minutes later, she had turned into a strip mall, again unfamiliar to him. He'd been here for weeks and had never even gone anywhere much passed the road to home. "We're here already, anyhow," she said, pulling into a parking space and turning the car off.

He leaned forward to look out the front windshield. "It's fuckin' Starbucks," he said, reading off the vaguely familiar green logo. He turned to see her already smiling at him, contained laughter shining in her eyes. "This your idea of a surprise?"

"Well, would you've come quietly if I'd told you?"

"Dunno. Never been before," he answered honestly, looking out the window again.

"Oh," she said, sounding quietly surprised herself before she shook it off, touching his shoulder lightly before opening her door. "Glad I'm here for this, then. C'mon."

"Thought we was gettin' food," he grumbled, sounding more than a little like he was pouting.

"We can after. I just wanted somethin' here first. Been some kinda day," she said, then got out of the car. "Or they have food here, too. S'not great, but it ain't terrible," she said, speaking louder to him over the hood.

He kind of shrugged his shoulders in agreement - what did he care where they ate, really? - and followed her into the shop. He felt immediately off center. It was quiet in here, and dimly lit. Expensive tables that he figured were supposed to look rustic and woodsy, polished wood covered in rings from cups, and generic soft tune coming from speakers he couldn't see.

He didn't really feel like he'd been missing out on much.

Beth had left him at the door to order already, and he came forward to listen. Some tea or fruit or maybe it was both, and then she was looking back at him expectantly. "You want somethin'?"

Saying no didn't feel like what she wanted him to say. "Just… just coffee," he said, looking up at the menu and not seeing much he recognized or trusted. Getting morning coffee, especially from a place like this, was never too high in his budget. Or even there at all, really.

She ordered him something, and even though he'd just asked for coffee he didn't quite catch all the words she was saying. She stepped back to look at the display of food, cakes and cookies and sandwiches galore, and then ordered something from there, too. "Two forks, please."

He frowned, stepping forward and reaching into his pocket to pay, but she reached out a halting arm to stop him without even looking back. "I got it," she said, reaching into her purse and bringing out a large wad of ones that made the barista raise a brow. "You can get us a table. Please."

He didn't really see that he had much choice. Just going with it. Following her some more, whether to fucking Starbucks or just to a table. He chose one in the corner that looked darker than the rest, out of sight of the only other person that was in there, and sat down. Waiting. Feeling kind of dirty, like even this chair that was supposed to look like a garage sale piece of shit wasn't quite meant for his ass to sit on. It got worse when Beth came to join him, gracefully balancing two drinks and a plate of something that looked like chocolate cake, but fancier somehow.

"How's your Starbucks experience so far?"

"Bout what I woulda thought," he said, ready to help her if she needed it. He sat back when everything was on the table, looking around and trying to sink into his chair a little, stretching his legs out. "What'd ya get?"

"Shaken iced peach green tea," she said, and smiled at the look on his face. "Bad name. Good drink. You just got coffee. And that's I think called a triple chocolate flake cheesecake?" she said, phrasing it like a question before shrugging and sitting in the chair next to him, reaching forward to take his drink off the table and hand it to him. "Go on. Drink up."

He took it from her slowly, nodding in her direction before doing what she asked. It was just coffee. Bitter. Too hot to be refreshing or much of anything, really. But she seemed like she was looking for some kind of response, so he nodded again, taking a larger sip until she looked away seeming pleased with herself.

They sat in quiet for the next few minutes, giving him time to sink lower and lower into his seat while she looked at him with an amused sort of expression. He glanced upwards at her, daring her to comment, but she didn't, just shrugging and raising her shoulders again in an _alright _motion.

This seemed like the kind of place he'd seen on TV where people went to talk. Deep kind of conversations that didn't fit outside in the normal world. He went through his head, trying to think of something to say, but immediately landed only on the obvious: whatever the hell it was he'd heard that morning. He wanted to ask her. He thought maybe even that it wouldn't be bad for him to. She'd gotten in on his life, after all. Knew more than he'd ever really meant to give her. So maybe he'd earned a question or two of his own to get some answers for himself that might help explain her.

"Did you want to go somewhere with me tomorrow?" she asked, beating him to it. She had her hand wrapped around her coffee mug, fingers long and thin. Dexterous looking. "If you're not busy."

"Where?" he asked, looking up at her, having sunk so far that he needed to tilt his head to see her properly. He didn't think it actually mattered where she was going or if he was busy or not. He could only see himself going, just because she'd asked, and because the alternative of going back to the Before he'd been experiencing the last couple days was something he was at least going to try to avoid. Whether he got his questions answered or not.

"Somewhere else," she said vaguely, turning around the tag hanging out from her cup, and then she crossed her legs, taking another sip. "I could use a change in scenery. I thought you might could, too."

"You just gonna drag me off to a Starbucks some town off this time?" he asked, trying to prolong the time he had to answer.

She smiled, laughed a little, and he felt it again: that little cresting of pleasure that the smile was there for him. "No. Promise."

He looked back forward. _Change of scenery_. It wasn't exactly true. It was never the scenery that was the problem; it was the people in it. He'd been moving around ever since he first could. It never really did anything to help him much. He didn't know what to make of her asking him on a mission like this, either. It put some kind of pressure on him. Expectations of a better outcome just for him being there. Making her laugh was one thing; going with her while she went off searching for "somewhere else" was something different. "Sure," he mumbled. Even to his own ears, it didn't sound exactly enthusiastic.

"You don't have to," she said, setting her cup back down and looking at him. "You don't gotta do anything, Daryl. I'm just asking."

He picked up his hand so he could scratch at the dirt that lingered under his nails. "You got some place in mind?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. Not really." She didn't seem particularly concerned by her lack of direction or plan.

He stopped picking momentarily so he could look at her. She looked pretty as ever, if not a little tired. Worn out a bit around the edges. "I'll go."

She smiled, and she seemed relieved, her whole body deflating a little. She'd been nervous that he would say no.

Weird.

"Do you - would your brother want to go?" she asked hesitantly. "Things weren't lookin' too great last time I was there but he's still your brother." She picked up her cup again, needing something in her hand. "Maggie and I, when we fought, Daddy would make us go out and spend the day together somewhere. We hated it at first but… by the end of the day we weren't fighting anymore."

He wondered briefly if that was what tough love looked like in a family that didn't choose to speak in more precise, physical terms. "We've fought over worse," he said, taking another drink that finally didn't scorch his tongue. "You don't want him there. Trust me."

He thought she might've looked a little relieved, but also, bizarrely, he thought she might have looked a little disappointed.

"It's your choice," she said. "But you do wanna go?"

He shrugged. "Don't got much else to do."

She rolled her eyes. "Be careful what you say to me or I'm just gonna swoon all over this table."

"Ain't you s'posed to have a job somewhere?" he asked, scooting up so he was sitting straighter.

"Yeah. Tonight, actually." She tucked her legs up under her, trading out her drink for the plate and setting it on the armchair between them. She handed him a fork, taking a sizeable chunk for herself. "So I don't wanna leave too early… when's good for you?"

"Whenever," he said noncommittally. He guessed he could've pretended like he had shit to do, like he wasn't going to wake up tomorrow and let her tow him off somewhere and then drop him off at home and leave him to wait until the next time. But he didn't entirely see the point, especially just watching her tongue dart between her lips to catch some chocolate that had fallen wayside.

No. He didn't really see much point pretending at all.

"Alright. Noon, then. I'll drive," she said lightly, looking at him a little haughtily as she took another bite.

He nodded in agreement, taking a bite of his own when she hit his fork with hers. She smiled to herself, a quiet one this time, one that he didn't think was for him. But happy, all the same. He'd still done that, without even really trying to. Just by saying yes.

He thought he might be able to do even better tomorrow.

**See? Needed to be shorter. Next one should be nice and long. **


	16. Chapter 16

**This is oh so very late. I really, really thought this chapter was going to be relatively straightforward, but somehow it wasn't and I do, rarely, have a life that needs tending to. Oh well. I sometimes lose people when I take so long to update, so for those of you that are still here, thaaank you and enjoy. **

Daryl wished he could say with certainty that this was getting easier.

And in some ways, it was. It wasn't as hard to sit in the seat next to her, and he didn't feel himself as such a giant question mark of _why_ anymore. He'd told some lie to Merle, she'd picked him up later than she'd said she would, and they'd been driving ever since. It really was that simple. It'd been about an hour, he thought.

But in some ways, it was the same. It felt what he imagined a vacation to feel like. A break. Which also meant that there was an end, somewhere. The more time he spent with her the more inevitable that felt. Especially with this sister coming in.

He looked out the window, trying to get some kind of gage on where they might be headed. There was some kind of expectation with small towns. The shit you'd see on TV where everyone knows everyone and everything is happy and rose tinted like nothing else even exists. But that didn't show how it really was, how everything was dying or close to it, that when you tried to leave you had to pass the empty bodies of buildings and houses that had failed years ago. Fields of nothing but green and trees, dirt roads, chained doors and barred windows that were all that were left from whoever had actually tried to live here.

Because there wasn't any living here. There was existing, and that was all you were allowed to expect, anyways. It was all the same, no matter where he and Merle went. Dead towns. Dying people. Dead.

Unless you were Beth, apparently.

"I came out here a couple times, when school was goin'. There's an old meat packing factory that burned down. Kids from the school here would bring drinks and music and pretend the place was haunted." She'd been doing this since they'd started driving. Pointing out the dead places and making them seem less so, telling little stories in dribs and drabs as they got further and further from home. She turned to shoot him a smile. "Not where we're goin', though."

"Yeah, you keep sayin'," he said. He wasn't used to being a passenger for this long. Didn't like how it left both his feet and hands idle so that he had nothing to do but stretch his legs and cross his arms and focus on the monotonous greenery passing them by.

"We're almost there, I think," she said, glancing at the clock on the dash and then sidling that glance over to him. "You look so… Uncomfortable."

He desperately wanted a smoke, but had a feeling that wouldn't fly. He didn't want to be this way. He wanted to be able to sit in a car with the girl who'd kissed him. Who he'd kissed. Both. Either. Whatever. Point still stood that compared to that sitting here shouldn't be bad. "You're the one drivin'. I'm just here for the ride."

She frowned at the road. "Still."

He didn't have a defense for himself, and he guessed there really wasn't one for not being able to function at this very, very basic level. So back out the window he looked, passing another couple stores that were still struggling along when he got hit with an odd sense of deja vu. Something about this road she'd just turned onto, and it wasn't like he could remember the trees themselves but something about the road signs and the steep embankment to his right was calling to him.

He'd been here at some point. Which wasn't weird. He'd been a lot of places. He'd spent hours driving through whatever roads, with Merle or by himself, getting lost and connecting the dots of the places he knew. But then she pulled onto a different road, one that had been relatively newly paved that stretched across a small bridge, and then finally into a little collection of stores and restaurants that screamed tourist, and that deja vu got stronger.

"I've been here before," he said, looking around as she parked, and he knew it was true. Familiar from when he was younger - not a kid, but Beth's age, maybe. A little older. One of the first times he and Merle had left together, back when Merle was a brother and not an endless ring of drugs followed by angry, stubborn sobriety. They had even stayed near here. There was a pretty good hunting area through those trees that surrounded them.

"You've been here?" Beth asked, watching him look around with a surprised smile, hand still on the keys in the ignition. "Here?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding his head. He got out of the car and turned around, getting the lay of the land. Cheap place on the corner that'd sold his stupid ass beer and cigs when he hadn't even had an ID to show. That was gone, replaced by some frilly cafe with an awning and umbrellas and flowers on the terrace. He pointed to it when she came around to stand next to him. "With Merle. Used to drink there. Beer, mostly," he corrected, catching himself and looking back at her, but she didn't seem to care, looking interested more than anything else. "Could hunt here, too."

He turned towards the line of trees, and there it was, just visible. He moved towards her, pointing in her line of sight to direct her vision towards a small break in trees. "Used to be a trail back there, see? Ain't paved or nothin', but it was there. Go back far enough and there's a cabin. Used to swipe some moonshine someone was keepin' back there." A lot of _used to be_'s. He separated from her, looking around, seeing if anything else called to him. But it was all different now. "Bet it's still there," he thought out loud, mostly to himself, but she appeared next to him, nudging her shoulder against his.

"Maybe we should see," she suggested lightly, and when he looked at her she was tilting her head.

"Nah, nah," he said, shaking his head. "This is your thing."

"You're here, too. That kinda makes it our thing."

It was a thing, at least. He wasn't sure about his or hers or _theirs_, but it was a thing. He could give her that.

"Does that mean you lived here?" she asked, stepping past him in the direction he'd been pointing.

He shook his head uncomfortably before he realized she wasn't looking. "Nah. Not close, neither."

She turned back, curious. "Then how did you end up here? Kinda out of the way."

"Drove some. Walked." Hitchhiking, sometimes. Or Merle would come back with a car and Daryl wouldn't ask where it came from. He didn't have much money now, but they literally didn't have shit back then. Nothing to buy much of anything with.

She smiled a little, looking at his face, trying to see if he was kidding. "If you'd walk here and you don't live close then how'd you get back?"

"Same way," he said, and shrugged when she kept on looking, watching the realization that he was being serious come onto her face. She looked a little bit sad now, and even though he hadn't really given her much of anything he could see that she was putting together a narrative of her own. It was his fault. He wasn't explaining this right. Sad, angry fucking kid with a distinctly bitter taste of the world, on his own, committing petty crime and sleeping nowhere. It looked pretty fucking pathetic.

It was pretty fucking pathetic. It hadn't been, at the time. It was just necessary, and sometimes, when Merle was there and actually present, it could even be fun. But mostly it was just what they had to do. Always leaving and always searching. "How you know this place?"

She shrugged now, like she was shy. He imagined that his little history was making it difficult to find a follow up. "Mama has family up north and we'd drive up to see 'em a couple times a year. We'd always stop here and get ice cream," she said, and gestured towards the shops where, nestled in the middle, there sure enough was a little ice cream store. "It's kinda dumb, I guess. But it was tradition. I liked it."

"It ain't dumb," he said. And it wasn't. It sounded vaguely nice. A weird concept. Foreign. He had no idea where his family was. Cousins, grandparents. There was Merle and that was about it. He'd never thought about much past that.

She smiled, a little gratefully. "C'mon, then. I still want ice cream." And she grabbed his hand, just for a couple seconds to pull him along, but it was something. So he followed her to this shop, a small place with the walls painted a friendly shade of blue, and a chalkboard full of flavors, some familiar and some weird, and stood back to let Beth order for him because that was easier. Ten minutes later they were back at the river, sitting in the grass near the same bridge they had crossed to get here, and she was eating something cherry and he was eating something chocolatey and it was weird but it wasn't bad.

Until she twisted in the grass a little, casual as ever, to stretch her legs out across his lap. Predatory. Almost possessive, if he thought to look at it from the outside. As it was, he was on the inside, and he looked at her to see if she was going to acknowledge what she was doing. She only smiled, taking another spoonful of ice cream and then looking at the water. "I can't believe you've been here."

He didn't have any place to put his hands besides on her legs or on the ground. He opted for the ground. "Why?"

"Just a big coincidence, is all." She sighed. The sun was inching towards the horizon, now, lighting up the side of her body facing the river, her hair blowing and her warm skin golden. "Maggie made me think of it."

Nope. Wasn't going to discuss the sister. Not with what he knew. Or didn't know. "Ain't you supposed to be in school?" he asked. He'd seen the busses. He wasn't even sure why he would bring this up, trading one awkward conversation for another. Even putting her and high school in the same realm of thought gave him close to a physical reaction.

"I graduated," she said, frowning first at her ice cream and then at him. "There's college soon, I guess. I got into a couple places, but…"

"Ain't goin'?" Like he had room to ask.

"I dunno where I'd go. I used to want to be a nurse, but I'm not sure or anythin'. Money's kinda tight right now, even if I was at home. Which I'm not." She shrugged, shaking her head. "School will be there a while. Timin' just ain't right yet."

She sounded young again. But still not naive, somehow. Sure of herself, sure of her words, and sure of what she was saying, even in its uncertainty. Like she wasn't even worried. He guessed someone somewhere had to have their shit together. Might as well be her.

He was actually kind of relieved it was her.

"What about you? Did you ever - ?"

He was shaking his head no before she could ask. He didn't offer up any explanation. Let her think he'd graduated. No harm, no foul.

She stared at him for a second, holding the spoon in her mouth, waiting for him to expand. He waited, too. Waited for a pity filled _oh._ Maybe a further line of questioning.

She didn't do either.

"My dad didn't go to school, either. We live on a farm that's been in his family since forever, basically. Maggie was actually the first in a while to go to college."

Back on the sister again. He didn't steer the conversation away this time. She'd sat through enough of his awkward ramblings. He could listen to this without making it about himself.

"Even that was up in the air for a while. She wanted to leave, but Daddy talked her out of it. She's always been real strong. Loud. Couldn't tell her anythin'." She paused, and she wasn't quite here anymore. "My brother's a bit more strong and silent type. Like dad." She looked at him now, coming back from whatever thought had taken her. "Like you, too."

He snorted, but she didn't laugh. "Lots of brooding. Lots of thinking. Real quiet."

"Don't do too much thinkin," he muttered. He tried not to. Just listen to his dad. Listen to Merle.

Listening to her, now.

"Yeah, you do."

He didn't like this look, the pervasiveness of it or the slight head tilt that accompanied it. That first night he'd met her, when she'd been all nerves and clumsiness and doubt, he would've pinned her down as someone that could've been taken advantage of. Someone who might've needed watching. But here and now, with her eyes on him and her legs across his lap trapping him - she wasn't anything close to prey. She was very distinctly - if not quietly and gently - predatory. Quick to catch him in the same look she was giving him now, and quick to keep him there.

He shrugged, because even if he'd had other words to say she was chewing them up along with the rest of him. Her feet wiggled in her sandals along with her toes with the nails painted sky blue, calling his attention back to her.

"You're doin' it right now," she said, and then she laid down, setting her empty cup of ice cream next to her so she could stretch out her arms along the grass above her head. Her shirt rose to show a healthy couple inches of her midriff, paler than the rest of her. "Maggie would like you."

Which was a ridiculous sentence. It just was. Beth might not even like him when all was said and done and the dust around her life had settled. He'd already done more with her than he thought anyone in her family was likely to forgive. "Don't seem like it," he said, looking straight ahead, trying to keep the peripheral glances to an unnoticeable level.

She rested her hand across her stomach, her fingers drumming along her skin. "I told you, she's stubborn. She'll come around."

"Ain't what it sounded like." The words were out before he had time to consider them. It seemed with her that he was either talking without thinking of what he was saying or he could barely string two words together.

She sat up a little so she could see his face, looking slightly alarmed. "What's that mean?"

He shook his head quickly. "Nothin'."

"No, it wasn't. What did you hear?"

He turned his head to the side, but she jostled her legs to shake him persistently. He snapped back towards her, sitting up straighter. "Maybe you should shut your damn windows if you're gonna be talkin' 'bout shit you don't want other people hearin'," he said, a little hotly. He hadn't even meant to sound angry, but he kind of was. His legs were beginning to fall asleep under the light weight of her body, and the ground was hard and uncomfortable and she was looking at him in that way, and once again the roles were weirdly reversed as he felt like something helpless in a trap she had set. Worse, he felt a little vein of embarrassment. Embarrassed that he'd stayed and listened, that he cared enough to bring it up now.

She sat up, too, knees bending to bring her closer. She looked more than a little alarmed now, all the relaxation gone. "Are you talking about yesterday?" She looked towards the water, rubbing her hands along her thighs until they clasped her knees. "Daryl, you said you'd left. I saw you go." She swallowed, and she looked a little anxious and a little mad. "What did you hear?"

"Enough," he conceded gruffly, looking away. He felt immensely guilty about the whole thing. It wasn't even like he'd done anything distinctly wrong. He hadn't fucking known he was going to hear something more than he maybe should. Almost like he'd betrayed her.

"Ah," she said, and he watched as her fingers tightened. "I wish you'd mentioned it earlier."

She said that like it was easy.

Maybe it was.

"Don't gotta say nothin'," he said. "Ain't my business."

"No, it isn't," she said, and even though she still looked irritated she was smiling again. "But that didn't stop me from askin' you." She heaved a big sigh. "There was… A lot goin' on at home. More than just -" She was having a hard time putting a sentence together, the roles oddly reversed.

He reached into his pocket, taking out his pack of cigs and lighting one, turning his head to blow the smoke away from her. Trying to feel less like he was hanging onto every word. He tapped it, watching some of the flecks of ash drift onto her shins.

"Some things happened. My family freaked. And now I'm here," she finished, suddenly but lightly, her voice taking on a forced happy note.

He raised an eyebrow at her. He wasn't stupid enough to push it, even if there was obviously more to know. This was enough, for now. "Now you're here."

"Here with you," she said, and put her hand on the ground so that her fingers laid just barely on top of his. "Thanks. For listenin'. Haven't talked about this, really."

As if listening to her was hard. Another drag of his cigarette while he looked at the water, flashing brilliantly in the sunlight. Absolutely casual. Not a big fucking deal. Touching him like she was could've easily been an accident.

Except it wasn't. He knew it wasn't, and he didn't even want it to be. And he'd already kissed her once. So why not again? He was even relatively sure she wanted him to. What was the worst that could happen?

He snubbed out his cigarette on the ground, watching it until the light smoked out, and then, before he could think about anything else or talk himself out of it, put the hand that she wasn't touching on the outside of her knee so that her legs folded toward his chest.

There. Easy.

She might've even been smaller than she looked. His hand dwarfed her thigh, his fingers curling naturally around the underside of her leg. His palm felt damp, his hand heavy against the youth of her skin.

Didn't look _bad_, though.

And it didn't look bad when she scootched towards him, her knees coming up higher as she curled closer in on herself and on him. "I like bein' here with you," she said, and he didn't think she was speaking particularly loudly but it sounded deafening.

Fucking ridiculous. All of it was fucking dumb as hell, and he probably looked like her father and her family was already on their way to hating him and she was just this girl. None of this even mattered.

Except it did. He wanted to answer back. Ask why. Say _me, too_. Something. But he turned to look at her and she was already there, her face close and leaning in closer, and it wasn't even a decision he had to make to pick his hand off the ground to pull her by the side of her neck over to him. It wasn't so much as him kissing her or her kissing him, this time, but meeting somewhere in the middle, and it didn't make sense to go from secret conversations to his tongue in her mouth but here he was, her hand gripping his elbow as she pushed into him. She tasted like the ice cream she'd just eaten, cherries and happiness and sunshine, her skin warm and her mouth even warmer.

He could definitely say with certainty that kissing her had gotten easier. No teeth clicking this time, but a perfect mess of lips and tongue and her teeth that pulled at his lip, surprising him. He squeezed her leg hard, his thumb etching along the line of her jaw, and he got a sound from her: a little humming of approval that vibrated through him, making his lips tingle on hers. Her hand went to his shoulder, sliding down to grasp the collar of his shirt and pull him towards her.

Yeah. Yeah, this was easy. This was fucking great, and even better when he dropped his hand from her neck to her hip, his hand on her thigh sliding up to match, and he gripped her there to haul her those last couple inches up and over so that she was in his lap, her arms falling around his shoulders. She squealed, surprised but adjusting fast, her face over his now as fingers from one hand brushed through the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Hey," she said, a little airy, looking down at him with a small smile, blocking the sun so that he was in shade. He was a little surprised with himself, stepping on the gas pedal and going what felt like a safe 25 to 60, but it didn't look like she minded. She was so small. He'd noticed it before, but now it was basically assaulting him how tiny she was, a noticeable wait in his lap but his hand nearly covered her hip. "I mean it. Thank you."

"Shut up," he said, because he wanted to hear her make that sound again and because he honest to fucking Christ wasn't about to sit here and listen to her thank him, and he squeezed her hips until she was kissing him again.

Yeah. He could get used to this.

**Pretty sure we're gonna meander on over to some Beth POV next chapter. Which, yes, I have already begun writing. **


	17. Chapter 17

**This came way easier. So hopefully writer's block is gone. **

**Boondocks - believe me. I am TRYING SO HARD to get them there. With that said we do get closer this chapter :)**

Over the next week they fell into a rhythm of sorts. Beth would invite him along to the bar on the nights she worked and Daryl would come and sit and watch, never getting drunk, and they'd talk for a while there and then maybe she'd drive them around afterwards. Mostly to nowhere. The destination wasn't really the point, she knew. But then, on her off days, if his mood seemed good - and it did seem mostly good, now, she'd noticed - she'd take him somewhere else. There was a little pond out between her house and the school with a dock where she used to sit and study, with a flock of turtles that swarmed near anyone who approached, looking for food. A couple days after that there was a used paperback bookstore she took him to, a place where Shawn had worked,with the exact right number of creaking floorboards and golden lamps and colorful carpets. There was a little cafe attached to it where she used to get breakfast with her father on school mornings when they had time and the weather was right.

Daryl went with her to these places, almost always quiet - he really was a listener - and if he was curious or irritated as to why she was dragging him all over town he didn't show it. It used to be painful, seeing ghosts everywhere she went. Because all those memories felt like ghosts now. Something unreachable. But with him there, it was different. Less painful, even though mostly they talked about nothing, really. He didn't ask her again about what he'd heard with Maggie, though she was sure he hadn't forgotten. That was going to be complicated, probably.

But everything else was surprisingly simple.

And sometimes they didn't talk very much at all. Like tonight. She'd texted him earlier telling him where she'd be, that he could come keep her company if he wasn't doing anything else, and less than an hour left until close he'd come. Picked a seat on the corner, nodding at her for a hello, accepting the beer she gave him and then just waiting patiently. Sometimes looking at her, and then looking away real fast if she caught him. Watching her make drinks, and then even more intensely with a subtle, veiled admiration as she smiled and sugared her way into tips. She'd smile at him too, when she had a moment, and even though they were out in public and nobody even cared about them, it felt a little like a secret.

The night was coming to a close. Beth was going around, gathering the cups and bottles that had been left behind. Taking the opportunity to look at him, too. She liked looking at him, even if sometimes the age difference would come out and give her a none-too-gentle slap across the face. She could see it, times like now more than others, when his face was relaxed and she caught him relatively unaware. His hair was long in a scraggly way that suited him, some strands nearly reaching his shoulders. He was very still, she'd noticed every movement planned, and that applied to his face as well. Every expression that wasn't a natural frown looked like he was stretching muscles and skin that weren't used to moving. He wasn't wrinkled, but tired looking all the same, his skin tan and weathered, some of the stubble and whiskers going silver. He wore some variation of sleeveless plaid every night to the point she was wondering how much clothing he actually had. There were his arms, worked and curving muscles, veins in his forearms and on his hands that looked so big on her whenever he touched her. Rugged. She'd always felt like she looked a little baby faced, and she felt it now more than ever.

But yes. She liked looking at him. Different than anyone else.

She touched his shoulder and smiled as she passed him, her heavy carton of dirty glasses clinking as she adjusted its position from where she held it on her hip. "I think we're about done in here, if you wanted to wait outside?"

He nodded, putting his half empty beer down and pushing himself out of his seat. He turned to her, so tall and nearly looming, and without a word bent to pluck up the carton from her arms, carrying it back behind the bar for her and setting it down near the sink. She watched him, her smile cracking wider. "I coulda carried it. You don't need to help."

"Welcome," he grunted, looking down at her for another second before sidling past. He didn't even glance back as he walked out.

Who said romance was dead?

She kept smiling to herself as she went about flipping chairs over onto the tables, a persistent little thing that was never far off her mouth these days. She'd worked with Shannon again tonight, cleaning the tables as Beth chaired them. She liked Shannon, even if she was starting to feel a little judgement from her every time Daryl was there. Nothing was bothering her too much now anyways.

"You officially get the trophy for 'Most Improved'," Shannon said as they cleaned. "You're making hella tips."

Beth shrugged modestly. "People can be generous. I'm grateful."

She scoffed. "Yeah. Grateful." She stopped when she happened to catch sight of Daryl outside, leaning on the fencing around the porch and puffing away at a cigarette, his stitched wings glowing purple from the Open sign. "Jesus. He's here again," she said, staring at him, not even trying to be discrete.

Beth was thankful his back was turned so that he couldn't see. "Yeah," she acknowledged, and wasn't sure what else she could or even should say.

"Is he… Do you want-" Shannon started, turning away from the window and going back to the last of the dirty tables slowly, obviously thinking. She stood up straight, looking at Beth with a serious sort of expression that instantly reminded her of Maggie. "Is he harassing you or something? I can tell him to fuck off if you want. Tell him not to come back."

She flamed red, picking up Shannon's abandoned rag to scrub at the table twice as hard and fast, motivated by the need to be done and away. "No, no. Nothin' like that. He's fine. I - I invited him. He ain't doin' anythin' I didn't ask."

Beth could tell she didn't believe her, putting her hands on her hips and looking at her with pity mixed with resignation. "Alright. But if you change your mind -"

"I won't," she said, finishing the table and dropping the rag in the bucket of sudsy water with a splash. "But thank you."

She wasn't trying to be defensive. She knew Shannon was just looking out. But first Maggie, and now this - was it really so hard to believe she could take care of herself?

Things went awkwardly quiet but quickly after that, without more than a "g'night" from Beth as Shannon locked up and went for her car, throwing a dubious expression over her shoulder at them on her way out. Beth sighed as she watched her walk away. She wasn't sure she could do anything to fix this.

"She don't look happy," Daryl said, moving so he was right behind her, and even though he wasn't touching her she could feel his presence heavy at her back.

"Just checkin' up on me, is all," she said, and rolled back for a second to brush against him, watching Shannon's car pull away. Over her head, there was a cloud of smoke as he exhaled, swirling in the fog light and past the moths that were clicking against it.

"Don't blame her," he said, dropping the cigarette and rolling it under his heel. "It don't look too good."

She turned around to look at him. He was undeniably older, not even close to a difference she could make an excuse for. But why should she have to? Who did she owe here?

She used to operate on a general karma system. Do the right thing, do what you're supposed to, be sincere. Be honest. With family most of all. Do good, and good things will come to you. Keep the balance. For a while, it had worked that way. She didn't take any pleasure in cruelty or dishonesty, anyways. But her family had messed it up. Her father had messed it up. In some ways, she had messed it up herself.

So she was doing things different, now.

"Does it bother you?" she asked him. "What it looks like?"

He blinked down at her, looking vaguely amused. "Figured it'd bother you."

"Well. You were wrong." She was doing things her way now. Figuring out that that wasn't a bad thing, and that if Daryl was a part of it that wasn't bad, either. "I told her that I wanted you here, and I do."

It always seemed to throw him off a little when she spoke so bluntly. He stared at her, nothing between them but quiet. "Alright."

Alright, then.

She went to the rail where he'd been standing, pushing herself up and onto it so she was sitting, almost eye level with him now. She spread her legs, just enough to give him room, and looked at him. Waiting. After a second's hesitation he stepped over to stand in front of her between her knees. One of his hands found her hip, its warmth familiar, his forearm lining against the outside of her thigh, his other hand grasping the wooden rail on the opposite side so that she was surrounded by him. She sighed and leaned forward to rest her forehead against his, inhaling his cigarette smell. He was already breathing deep and heavy, his chest and shoulders rising and falling, every exhale audible.

"Do you really think I need lookin' after?" she asked quietly. She was fairly certain he was one of the only people who could or would give her an honest answer.

He actually laughed, a soft sort of chuckle under his breath that made her heart jump and her hands search for his waist. "Think between the two of us, if she's gonna be checkin' up on someone it oughtta be me."

She smiled wide, a pleasurable little sprinkling of nothing but happiness falling all over her, and she grabbed at his waist and he squeezed at her hip and she tried to stay still when he finally tipped down to kiss her.

Sometimes they talked, and sometimes they didn't, but sometimes, there was this: his thumb stroking her hip, her feet hooking around the backs of his legs and her hands running up his chest to his shoulders and neck, his smokey taste and just feeling so warm everywhere. Like laying out in the sun, with light hitting everywhere he touched her.

He broke off her mouth only to kiss her jaw and then her neck, his tongue darting out at her earlobe. His breaths came hot on her skin, panting and labored, and as she left his shoulders to feel down his arms, she squeezed him a little harder, even pressing her nails in a little, just to see him respond.

Because she'd had boyfriends before. She'd kissed and been kissed, and touched and been touched, and it had been nice and fun just in the exhilarating newness of it. But it'd never been like this, giving her so much power at her fingertips, making her heady just with how much she could tell he wanted her. He let his teeth drag on her throat, kissing her once he reached her collarbone, and she squeezed him harder, using her feet on his legs to push him into her.

For the second time that night, Beth flamed, her skin flashing white hot. He was only there for a second, nestled right between her legs before he had pulled himself back, but she had felt him hard and on her.

Powerful. She felt her whole body surge, everything blurring out at the same time it came into hyperfocus. She gasped, his mouth still latched onto the base of her throat while his fingers grasped somewhat wildly at her waist, slipping around under her shirt to the small of her back so he was on her skin. He left a messy, open mouthed kiss behind as he moved to the apex of her shoulder, and she let one hand fly up to the back of his head to push him there, too, her legs squeezing him into her again, and when he made a low sound at the back of his throat that pitched into a broken whine as his hands on her back pushed her into him, she thought she might combust. She didn't think for a second that she'd be alone.

She'd done more than this. A cliche prom night, some under clothes fondling in a room with no lights and a boy who was too drunk, where she'd awkwardly laughed him off and said she was tired. So she wasn't new to this. And this was just kissing, really. But it felt like more. All she'd had was his mouth on her throat but she felt like he'd had so much more.

When he pulled back again, her legs fell a little slack. Gentle now, she stroked his arms, letting them both settle down a bit. Giving herself a moment to breathe and to think. Her eyes drifted open, and she felt herself slowly remember where they were. The porch light had clicked off at some point, so there was nothing but the moon and the stars making everything glow pale silvery blue. His head was still at her shoulder, and one hand was still on her back drawing little scratching circles with the tips of his fingers, making her shiver when he drifted too close to her spine, an involuntary roll of nerves that forced her up straighter. As it happened, his head fell from her shoulder to the top of her chest, and she watched his hand ball into a fist on the rail next to her.

Powerful. She'd never felt that before. Especially not like this.

"It's late," she said after a minute, when he'd stood up a little and had calmed down enough to look her in the eye. "But I don't want to go home, yet."

"Don't have to," he said, and pulled out another cigarette, the flame from his lighter blindingly brigh. He was still close to her, his free hand resting on her bare thigh, but he turned his head to divert the smoke. She watched him, watched the hollow of his cheeks deepen as he breathed in, watched the way his lips relaxed on the exhale, and watched his hand as he tapped off the extra ash. She let herself glance downward, too, where he was still pressing hard and obvious against the jeans of his pants.

She swallowed, suddenly shy, trying and failing for once on coming up with something to say. All her thoughts were scattered, his hand a furnace on her skin. "Tell me somethin'."

"What?" he asked, speech stunted, looking back down at her.

"I dunno. Anythin'. You've been listenin' to me talk for days."

"Think I'd be listenin' if I didn't want to?" he asked, and the way he said it almost sounded like an insult.

She nudged his leg with hers. "How am I supposed to know that?" she asked him, replacing her legs so they locked behind him once again her heels bumping into his calf.

"Just are," he answered, and this time as he exhaled he took less care to keep it away from her.

"Can I try that?" she asked suddenly, looking at his cigarette and already holding out her hand. She had no questions of whether or not he'd say yes.

He looked surprised. "This?" he asked, rolling it between his fingers. "The hell you wanna smoke for?"

She shrugged. "'Cause I've never done it before. If I even hung around someone who'd been smoking my parents could smell it on me."

He frowned like he wasn't sure it was a good idea, but turned it so that she could take it by the filter. She held it gently. "So, you just - what? Breathe it?" she asked. She wasn't nervous to make a mistake in front of him, exactly, but at the same time she had a feeling there was more than met the eye.

"Yeah. But breathe deep. Feel the smoke here -" he said, and pointed at her sternum - "not just in your mouth. And breathe it, don't fuckin' eat it. That's when you choke. And hold it where it's to your mouth; it gets hotter the more it burns down."

She nodded like she understood everything she was saying, putting the filter between her lips and taking a deep breath. She'd expected to cough, if only from what she'd seen on TV, but while it tasted way, way worse than it smelled, the smoke went down easy. She could feel it, now, what he was talking about, the way it burned past her throat and into her lungs and permeated its warmth there. When she let it go, she pursed her lips at him, letting out a puff at him, laughing as he blinked.

"That wasn't so bad," she said, looking at the cigarette in her hand. It really wasn't. So many things she'd been afraid of or that had been off limits to her, but she could have them now, if she wanted. She actually went for it again, putting it up to take a drag like she'd seen him do so many times, feeling rebellious and dangerous and free.

Before she could get there, though, he snatched it from her fingers and flicked it to the ground. His hands came to close in on either side of her face before she could say a word, and the way he was looking at her sent fire into her lungs just like that cigarette had.

She didn't wait for him to kiss her this time. She didn't have to wait on anybody.

She was powerful, and she liked it.

**because it can't just be about Beth healing Daryl. **


	18. Chapter 18

**This chapter came to me in one sitting and I went with it so. I hope it's good. Lemme know. **

Daryl had a job to do today. He was supposed to be with Beth - he nearly always was, anyways - but he'd gotten called for a job and even if he wasn't paying off for Merle anymore he wasn't exactly in a position to turn it down.

_Pick me up after work? I got something to show you._

He looked at her text, and not for the first time. Job was a long one today. Re-siding the house, painting the door and shutters, fixing up some shingles on the roof. Some old time farm like something from a picture, fields and stable and porch included. He'd been here for hours with the rest of the crew and it didn't feel like they had made much progress. It didn't help that it was hot as all getout, the sweat making his shirt stick to his back and his hair to his neck. He might actually take the time to shower before he saw her.

Or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he'd shower at her place. If she was inviting him over he thought it likely that they'd be alone. So that might actually be a thing that could happen. He allowed himself to think about that for a second, but considering he hadn't seen her with anything less than all of her clothes on that fantasy got shut off pretty damn quick. He was on a ladder, getting one of the shutters on the second floor side, and if he went any further into his head he was likely to fall off.

_I got something to show you_.

He hadn't texted her back, but he knew he didn't have to. She knew he'd be there. He'd walked out of his apartment that morning and told Merle he wouldn't be back til late, and Merle had said something along the lines of "boy, that pussy got you all kinds of whipped and you ain't even fucked it yet," and he didn't even care. Maybe he liked having some place to be and someone expecting him to be there instead of the endless, guideless road he'd been on with Merle.

There was a woman going around the house carrying a pitcher of what looked like tea and lemonade, calling people to the porch to get something cold. She was a nice lady, a little older. It hadn't been the first time she'd made these rounds, and he thought he might actually take her up on it now. Wouldn't hurt to cool down more than just his skin.

So he got down from the ladder, walked around to the front of the porch where she was making pleasant chit chat. There was another girl with short brown hair, maybe her daughter, out now too, just walking up the stairs across from him -

He turned around, going around the corner towards the front so he couldn't see her anymore. Was that - ? No. It couldn't be. Life didn't hate even him this much. But he took a quick side eye to look at the girl again, and then the wall next to the front door where there was a little plaque that read "Greene - Est. 1904", and quickly began to reassess that statement.

Because that girl was Maggie, and this was Beth's fucking house. He'd walked right into the lion's den and hadn't even fucking known it. He was at her house. Her fucking _house._

"Tea or lemonade?" Annette, she'd introduced herself. The line had dissipated without him noticing, and this woman, _Beth's fucking mother_, had made it to him, holding the pitchers. He looked at her with his new information, trying to see - yes. Same eyes. Similar smils. She wasn't blonde, or else he might've seen it sooner. She was looking at him expectantly, smiling pleasantly, but it did nothing to alleviate the exhaustion that he now saw lingering in the wrinkles of her face.

And why shouldn't she be tired? Her husband had died and her daughter - her _daughter_, who's mouth he had tasted just hours ago - had run away from home.

She was beginning to look concerned at his slack jawed silence. "Somethin' wrong, honey? Heat got you?"

He shook his head. "Just - just water," he said, and his throat was so dry it didn't sound like a lie.

"Maggie," she called, literally the exact opposite of what he needed right now, setting the drinks down to reach up and touch his forehead. "Bring me a glass of water. With ice." He heard Maggie call back a _yes, ma'am_, her voice familiar, and just wanted to disappear into the floor. He apparently wasn't doing a good job of looking calm while every fucking bone in his body was disintegrating. The other guys still standing here head started to notice, and, worse, stare.

"M'fine," he muttered, standing up straighter, his face red along with every other inch of his skin. The sister still hadn't seen him. He needed to make a quick exit before she did. "M'fine, just gotta -" Just had to _get the fuck out_, before -

Too late. The front door opened and there she was, the ominous sister, carrying the glass of water. "Mama, where do you -" She froze when she saw him. Just fucking froze, the only movement her eyes blinking and then narrowing.

Annette didn't seem to notice. "Give it here. Go on and bring him inside. He's about to catch heatstroke, bless his heart," she said, picking back up the pitchers and smiling at him kindly. "Not taking any chances around here these days. Go on inside. come out when you don't feel like the sun."

"He's fine, Mom. We're payin' him for this. He wants a break, he can ask for it." She sounded pointedly sharp and cool, not leaving the doorway.

Annette shot a look at her, something that was just purely Beth, sharp to acidic so fast it gave him whiplash. "Don't be rude. Bring him inside and make sure he's comfortable."

No. He absolutely should not go inside this house. But he was so shell shocked that he found himself standing up, his feet bringing him to the door that Maggie had reluctantly opened, and then he was inside. Inside Beth's house. He was in a foyer, a living room to his right, a dining room to his left. It was an older place. He could feel it in the sturdiness of the floors, the wallpaper that was past its time, the ancient looking grandfather clock ticking away next to the door. But that wasn't what drew his attention. There were pictures. Portraits everywhere. Some posed, obviously professional, but most not. And in almost every single one of them was Beth. Beth young, Beth smiling, Beth a toddler, Beth riding a pony and then a horse, Beth standing with a trophy, Beth standing with Maggie, with a boy, with her mother and with a man who he could only guess was her father. Beth was everywhere in this house, and though he tried not to look he couldn't help but see.

The door shut behind him, and he turned around to see Maggie had followed him in and that there was nowhere to go.

"What the hell are you doin' here?" she asked, offering him no reprieve.

He faced her. He didn't see that he had any other choice. "Just a job." He stopped talking, but that really didn't feel like enough of an explanation. "Found out where I was the same time you did." He felt incredibly aware of himself, the way he was standing, the awkwardness of his hanging arms.

"Are you seein' her?" she asked, nailing him in place with both her eyes and her words.

"What? he asked, his voice nearly breaking.

"Beth. Are you seein' her?" she repeated more slowly, hitting every word like a punch. Thankfully she wasn't being loud, which might at least mean she wasn't about to get others involved. "She's eighteen, she's away from home, and she's not exactly happy with us. I want to know what kind of mistakes she's makin'."

He didn't answer. What the fuck was he supposed to say? Even if he was some fucking creep like she was making him out to be, what did she expect from this? He hadn't pushed Beth out of her house. Hadn't asked her to run away. That didn't fall on him. So why did he feel so guilty?

When he didn't answer, she looked down, kicking one foot up against the door and crossing her arms. When she looked back up, she didn't look angry. She looked as tired as her mother outside. "How is she?"

This might honestly be worse. The air was stiff in here, feeling dense all around him. "She's…" He licked his lips, glancing at another picture of her. Graduation, looked like. Absolutely beaming. "Good. She's good."

Which might not have been the right thing to say. It felt like an admission, saying he knew anything more about her than her name. But he'd been caught with her at her damn house. If he had any kind of smokescreen up, it was thinning out fast.

Maggie glanced at the same picture he'd been looking at. "She's supposed to go to school. Soon. She was excited."

This was so weird, standing in Beth's house without her and talking about her like she was dead. As if he wasn't going to see her in an hour's time.

"Beth is special. I'm not even surprised she's talkin' to you," she said, but her voice went a little steely. Not surprised didn't mean she was happy about it. "She said she liked you. That you're harmless. I think she's wrong. I think you saw her and took advantage."

He didn't know what he was supposed to do. Defend himself? Defend Beth? Do nothing?

"But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe she likes you for a reason. So I'm askin' - tell her to come home. Please."

He already knew that was wrong, that he couldn't tell her to _do_ anything. That he was just bending in her breeze whichever way it went for as long as she decided to blow it, not the other way around. But his water had gone warm in his hand and the condensation had dripped over his knuckles and to the floor, and he was sweaty and hot and uncomfortable, and Annette had been kind, as kind as Beth -

So he nodded.

She nodded, too, not looking relieved or looking like much of anything other than tired, and opened the door for him to walk out. He did, not looking at her, trying not to look at anything, setting his water down on the porch and going back to finish his work.

_I got something to show you_.

Yeah. So did he.

* * *

Beth had asked him to pick her up. Couldn't just leave her without a way home, so he'd do that much. And he did think he'd have to talk to her tonight. That, or just drop off the radar completely. Which might not be completely shitty. Having the rest of the day and night to stew on what had happened had only made him feel worse. Guilty as shit, which pissed him off more. He'd found her after her family had fucked up. And he hadn't even found her; if anything, she'd found him. Just dropped out of fucking nowhere and chose him for whatever this was.

She was waiting for him when she got there, alone again, which just shoved his mood down closer to the floor. Did those girls disapprove of him so much they didn't have the common fucking decency to not leave her out at some dumpy bar by herself?

But what the fuck did he know about common decency? Not a damn thing.

She was smiling as she stepped up into the truck, pulling at the fabric of the seat to get herself up onto it. She swung with the momentum, lurching to plant a hard kiss on his cheek that knocked his head sideways a few inches.

"Hi," she said, still at his ear, and kind of nuzzled her forehead against his temple for a second before sitting back down. "You smell like paint and dirt," she said, reaching down to unzip her boots.

"Yeah. 'Cause I'm fuckin' dirty," he said, his tone so sharp that she turned her head to look at him, still bent over.

"Alright," she said slowly, sitting up straighter. "Did somethin' happen?"

"Why the fuck am I pickin' you up, anyways?" he asked angrily. "Ain't like you don't got your own damn car. Truck ain't even mine."

He didn't look at her to see how his words were received, but he could see how she froze in his peripheries. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she snapped back, and he could feel her eyes burning into his cheek.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with me."

"Bullshit," she said, absolutely no hesitation. And why would she hesitate? She'd never hesitated to push back before, on Ray or Merle or her own sister. Why would he be any different? "Look, if you're mad, that's okay, we can talk about it," she said, a little softer, obviously forcing her voice back down. "But you can't just - just - start _yellin'_," she said, and for someone so little her voice fucking filled every damn crevice of that car. "Just slow down and -"

"Had a talk with your sister today," he interrupted, and despite her request he started pressing on the gas pedal harder, the engine roaring. "Or she had a talk with me. Whatever."

She was quiet for a second, and he took satisfaction from it. Good. "What? Maggie? She - how?"

"Told you I had that job today?" he asked, glancing at her as she looked with rapt attention. "Turns out it was at a farm. The fuckin' Greene Estate," he finished darkly. It was funny. It really fucking was.

"Lemme get this straight," she said, turning in her seat so that the back of her head was to the window. "You got called for a random job and it ends up bein' at my house? And my sister was there and saw you and she - she what? What did she say?"

"A bunch of stuff." He swallowed, rolling his jaw. They were closer to her place, now, and he slowed down, not sure what would happen when the ride was over. "I didn't fuckin' ask for this, girl. Didn't sign on for some sister chewin' me out."

"I didn't ask you to," she said, louder this time. She sounded a little scared, but her voice was clear. "I'm sorry. She shouldn't've - she just cares. I didn't leave on the best of circumstances. And last year -" She took a deep breath. "I told you some stuff happened? Remember?"

He felt some semblance of calm, now that he'd told her, but reached across her into the dash anyways to pull out one of the smokes he'd left there. Once he had it lit with the window down, he felt okay enough to answer. "Yeah. I remember."

"Things were bad after that. For all of us, but Maggie felt… responsible, since she's older. And things got better, but she's just…" She trailed off, head thudding against the window as she crossed her arms and leaned back. "She's my big sister. You got your brother, don't you know what I'm talkin' about?"

In some senses, yeah. But they'd never had anything close to a scenario like this. No girl he was worried about not being good enough for Merle. They looked out for each other, and protected each other when the situation called for it, but never like this. Something more necessity than brotherly bond. "You ever gonna tell me what happened?" he said, looking at her as he asked it in time to see a soft smile that was more tired than anything else.

"Yeah. Yeah, I will. I promise. Just… not tonight. Alright?"

He nodded. He believed her, knew he wasn't going to ask again. She hadn't lied to him yet. He didn't think she'd start now.

"You gonna tell me what she said to you?" she asked, very quiet now.

"Said you was special," he said, clearing his throat and smoking fast. "Said you got school. That I should send you on home." That was the gist of it, really. None of it sounded unreasonable. It actually sounded smart.

"I'll talk to her," she said, and then a second later had unbuckled her seatbelt to sidle over the bench to him, resting her head on his shoulder, her hand falling on his knee. "But if she thinks you could send me off anywhere then she ain't been listenin'."

He looked at her hand on him while he turned onto her road. No, he didn't think he'd be able to tell her to go home. He didn't think he wanted to. But maybe it wasn't about what he wanted. Because she was special, in a way that seemed worth preserving and sure as hell wouldn't be with him. "If you're stayin' here 'cause of me-"

"None of this is because of you. You're just… here. And I like you here," she finished, squeezing his knee.

He liked her here, too. He was beginning to think that was part of the problem. "If you're stayin' here 'cause of me, don't."

He sensed rather than felt her stiffen. "I thought you said you didn't think I need lookin' after."

He was smoking already, but it somehow wasn't enough. He wanted a drink, which he wasn't even really doing anymore since that goddamn awful night he'd cornered her at work. "I don't. Just think you ain't thinkin' straight."

"I'll go see them again. I'll straighten things out. Okay?" she asked, but he didn't think his answer mattered. Whether she went or not didn't have anything to do with him. He'd made it to her house now, and he tossed his cigarette out the window, keeping the car running.

"Just sayin'-" he started, but she sat up so she could look at him from only inches away, her stare that much more potent.

"Daryl." She brought up her hand to brush through his hair behind his ear. "Do you want me here?"

She'd never asked him like that. Never put him in this position. He could deflect pretty easily. This hadn't been what this conversation was supposed to be about. But he didn't think she would let him, this time. How many Greenes were going to be nailing him today? "Yeah."

"Okay. Then that's that. I'll talk to them. She won't bother you again," she said, getting off him, and before he could do anything to stop her she had twisted the keys out of the ignition. "C'mon. Told you I have something to show you."

And then she was gone, out the door, walking towards the house. So the breeze was blowing in this direction, now.

He decided to follow it.

**I know that ended kind of abruptly, but I have a plan. I do believe next chapter this story may finally, finally, FINALLY earn it's rating. So. If that's what y'all have been waiting for (let's be real, that's what we've all been waiting for), get pumped. **


	19. Chapter 19

**y'all. It's here. It's finally here. Celebrate. It's kind of late in the night, and I debated waiting until tomorrow to publish so that nobody missed it, but... fuck it. Here ya go.**

Standing in the trailer wasn't much better than sitting in the car.

Like Daryl'd expected, they were here alone. Looking around, he almost wished they weren't. Maybe the silences wouldn't feel so intensely empty. He wasn't used to these kinds of quiet with Beth, tense and edgy and above all else just wrong. But he felt like he still had something he needed to say, and while he figured some normal human being might just get it over with, he'd been dragging them through a hellish half hour of saying pretty much nothing.

Not that she hadn't been trying. She was obviously getting antsy and, as time dragged on, more than a little irritated. She had taken up her perch on the couch, leaving the TV off so that there was nothing to cover up the lack of conversation.

"I know today was weird, but you're really just gonna stand there?" she said, and if she was deterred by his quiet, her voice didn't show it. "I thought we'd settled this."

"Just…" He trailed off, looking around at anything but her. He didn't know what boundaries he was toeing out here, how welcome anything he had to say would be. He wasn't even completely sure he had anything to say. This sister was nothing to him, really.

But she wasn't nothing to Beth. Already, this was more complicated than he was equipped to deal with. He rolled his shoulders, looking at the pictures that lined the wall and remembering the ones of Beth. "Dunno. Just seems stupid."

There. That was almost something. He still felt overwhelmingly tense, still hot, leftover dirt lingering on his clothes and sweat still clinging dry and salty to his skin.

"You don't get it," she said, louder than before.

"Maybe you better explain it to me, then," he said, still looking at the pictures instead of her. She'd looked so happy. Not that he hadn't seen her happy since, but it felt different. Heavier.

"They didn't tell me what was goin' on with my dad. None of it. They didn't think I could handle it. And maybe I can't, but…" He turned when he heard her getting up, watched as she came to stand in front of him. "I get to choose. I'm not like Maggie, I'm not… I've never been strong like she is. But I should've gotten to choose about my dad. And I get to choose now about this. Okay?"

She was huffing a little, getting all wound up, which was a little funny, because just as she was getting upset he felt himself calming down. Because he didn't think he had too much reason to be worried about her when it came to this. _If she's gonna be checkin' up on someone, it oughtta be me. _"Okay, Blondie."

"Okay. Then can we just…" she said, stopping to look around the room before her face lit up. "Can I show you now?"

He sighed, scratching the back of his head and shrugging. "Guess so."

She made a little face at his resistance before wiping it clean, pushing her own sigh before she turned around. "C'mon, then."

So after a second he followed her, a couple steps behind, in time to see her straining to the tips of her toes to reach for something on top of the fridge. "It must've rolled back," she said, not looking at him, but he came behind her anyways, pressing against her while his hand reached past hers until he found something round and soft. He brought it down, taking a step back so she had time to twist around and face him.

He'd grabbed a peach. He weighed it in his hand, looking at her while he waited for an explanation. She was smiling up at him. Her hair was up tonight, so he could see her face clearly, blue eyes round and even shinier under the fluorescence of the kitchen lights. "It's from the tree," she added. "Your tree. Well," she corrected slyly, taking the fruit from his hand. "My tree, actually." As she said it, she nodded her head to the right. He followed the direction, eyes landing on a jar on the windowsill that had some water and then a branch covered in pink peach blossoms.

Almost like he'd gotten her flowers. He guessed he kind of had.

He'd never given flowers to anyone before in his life.

"It's kinda small," she was saying, frowning down at the peach in her hand, still caught between him and the fridge. "I don't think I was supposed to pluck it yet. But it's the first one and I got excited. Figured we could share it?"

"This what you wanted to show me?" he asked her, looking down at her as she laughed quietly.

"Yeah. Kinda seems silly now," she said, leaning back against the fridge to meet his eyes more easily. "But when I told you about it I didn't know you'd be bringin' back somethin' a little bigger than a baby peach."

It was dumb, was the thing. It was dumb and small and stupid and just this fucking not even ripe peach. But it was so much better than coming home to Merle on drugs, or just to that fucking barren, dead apartment with nothing inside but sleepless nights and shitty beer and cold pizza, because they didn't even have a damn microwave. It was just a fucking peach, but she'd saved it to share and he wanted it more than he wanted anything else that waited for him outside those doors.

He didn't think about what he was doing, just putting his hand on the side of her face to pull her up and bending a little to meet her with his lips on her forehead, pressing a long kiss there.

She blinked up at him when he dropped his hand, her body angling toward his as her feet went back flat on the ground. "Guess it's good I saved it."

He'd been angry all day. That had been real and tangible, red and hot in his fists and his thoughts. He hadn't even done any of the shit he'd been resolved to do here, even just the minimum of forcing what seemed to be the obvious conclusion they were going towards out into the open. But he didn't feel any of it now. Couldn't even find the motivation if he reached back looking for it. She'd gotten out from where he'd almost had her trapped, putting the peach on the counter and getting out a knife and a cutting board, and all he could really feel was a distinctly warm fondness for her. Still red, still burning, but not bad. He leaned with his shoulder against the fridge, and just let himself feel that. That he liked it here. Not just in this trailer or kitchen or anywhere, but standing here watching her long fingers and arms work gracefully as she cut the peach first in half and then in slices.

He pushed off the fridge to stand behind her, leaving no space between them, letting his chin rest on the top of her head. He watched as her fingers stuttered, squeezing a little too hard so juice flooded over her hand, the knife slipping and cutting an uneven line against the slices she'd been making. The skin on her knuckles went white as she gripped the knife tighter before setting it down completely, her hand flattening against the counter. He thought he could actually feel when her breathing went deep, the way the oxygen went thin and her body fell back against him, hard enough that he felt the need to catch her, his hands finding her hips.

But he didn't just want to catch her. He wanted to pull her under, and he did, his fingers hooking into her belt loops on either side and yanking her back so that now she was pushing back against him, the line of her ass at just the right height, her hands closing over his own. She tilted her head up and to the side so that she could look at him, eyes lidded and cheeks pink and only getting pinker, and then reached one of her hands back up behind his neck to duck him down to her and kiss him. His hands pushed over her hips, crossing over her stomach and under her shirt so that he was gripping her tight on either waist in a hold that was almost a hug. He squeezed her, feeling her hand on his neck pushing into his hair, replacing his hands at her hips.

And then he was using his hold there to twist her around, sliding down her thighs to grip them under her ass and pick her up onto the counter, her hands moving behind her to push the cutting board back with a clatter. So here they were again, back in this kitchen and her back on this fucking counter, her hands running down his shirt buttons and back up to grasp at his collar, her eyes on his mouth and her skin flushed like his whole body felt. She was wearing a blue dress, simple cotton, cinching at the waist with a little string belt, and the fabric fanned out along the counter where he'd placed her.

Not entirely new. But this was different, something intense in her eyes that he felt pulsing into him with her fingertips touching along his collarbone, her feet swinging to lock behind his thighs.

He moved in to kiss her, but her hand shot up to stop him, one finger resting against his lips like she was telling him to be quiet. But then that changed, too, her finger sliding down until she was pushing the pad of it past his lip. He opened his mouth on instinct, watching her face as she watched herself hang her finger on his teeth, pulling his jaw wider. And there, just for a second, was a startled little smile of a laugh, gone as quick as it came. Like she was surprised with herself, but intrigued all the same, her thighs squeezing tighter around his hips.

So he decided to take it further, closing down on her finger. Not a bite, but enough to make her mouth fall open in a little gasp when his tongue chased after the taste of peaches she'd pushed into his mouth. He took her hand, pulling it to the counter and pinning it there, and this time when he moved to kiss she did nothing to stop it, her mouth already open for him to give her some peaches, too. She pulled herself free, and just there, now, little hands digging hard into his arms before she closed them into fists to push her nails into his skin. Then she was gone from his mouth to nip into his neck, her teeth dragging along his adam's apple before coming to a soft close under his chin, pulling a bit of skin into a tight pinch before letting him go and finding his mouth again.

There was what Merle had said about her being a virgin. About her being sweet. And she was - sweet on his tongue, waist and back sweet on his hands - but she was also sharp as anything. Maybe that should've surprised him. Maybe she should've been soft and innocent as the doe eyes she was constantly throwing at him, as delicate as her hands pouring drinks or braiding her hair. But it didn't. She would do this, find some boundary and then push at it, and she seemed to fucking relish in it.

So did he.

He relished in it now, and he thought not for the first time about how this should've been harder than it was. He listened to the way her breath sounded in his ear when he pressed himself between her thighs, the feel of her lips stretching into a smile against his jaw when those nails skated down his arms, and he knew it shouldn't be this easy. It had never been before. Never so natural as to where to put his hands, where to kiss her next, but here and now, it was nothing but easy. It was easy to pass his fingers up her ribs to her chest until his palm was on her breast, the curve of her fitting into his hand. Her collar was already dipping low, and it was only a couple inches of maneuvering before he'd gotten his hand under there so that he was on her bare skin.

Completely bare. No bra here, nothing but a hard nipple pebbling harder under his palm, and when she pushed up into him he broke off her mouth and the sound that came out of his mouth was nothing short of a growl. They both paused at that, his hand dropping off her and resting on her knee, her breast hanging out of her dress and the strap falling off her shoulder.

"Daryl," she gasped, pushing to the edge of the counter. "You can -"

She didn't finish the sentence, instead resting her forehead against his, breathing deep and labored before she took his hand by the wrist and guided him slowly up her thigh. He froze, letting her move him, his teeth clicking when his jaw clamped shut as he watched his hand disappearing up her dress. They both stopped when his fingers brushed against fabric completely different from her dress.

Underwear. He was touching her underwear.

"You can touch me," she finished, sliding up to grip onto his elbow instead of his wrist.

He tried to glance down at her, but she had pushed her face into his neck. He took a quick stock of the situation. There was Beth, breathing as hard as he was, the one hand grabbing tight to his arm and the other curled over the edge of the counter. She was kissing him now very gently along his jaw, and at some point the thumb on his free hand at her hip had started rubbing her back and forth. That was good. Meant he could, at least, move.

So he pushed the hand between her legs up a little more until the first knuckle of his index finger was edging along the fabric, falling in the little crescent there between her lips, dipping down lower until he could press the fabric in towards her entrance. It actually fucking stuck, clinging to the wetness there.

He'd been here before. He knew the basics, what went where, and a general idea of how to make things not shitty. But it seemed all that was gone, because she was throwing heat on his hand and she was actually wet. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but it wasn't this, her back arching so her hips could chase him as he traced that line again, pressing in the fabric so he could feel the way it stuck to her. This time, when he got to the top of that slit, she inhaled sharply, planting her mouth beneath his jaw and keeping it there.

So that hadn't changed.

He brought his free hand to the bottom of her dress and gathered it up her thighs, and she shifted as he pulled it so that she wasn't sitting on it anymore. Now he could actually see her, see his hand tracing along that deep line of her, and he'd felt that she was wet but now there was a damp spot where he'd pressed against her opening.

He breathed in deep again, but it wasn't even a second later before he was hooking the fabric and pulling it to the side so he could see her, literally glistening wet, a glimpse of blonde curls that disappeared under the fabric, spreading open with the shift of her legs. He could see her clit, deeper pink than the rest of her, and he drew a line there, starting at her opening again, nearly getting knocked back as she pushed her head hard into his shoulder. She was just so hot, and pink, and soaking, his fingertip sliding easily along her smooth folds. He brought his chin down to his chest so that his cheek was to hers, his finger dancing in a slippery, wide circle around her, nothing even close to patterned or dexterous. It only took him nudging against her for her to stop hiding in his neck and kiss him like he wanted, messy and barely even able to kiss him back as her breaths came uneven and fast. Her hands found his waist, holding tight to his shirt, pulling him closer when he slipped near her clit.

He refocused there, pushing against with two of his fingers before scissoring around it so he was essentially pinching her. Her back arched, her hands clawed, and she moaned, broken and muffled by his neck. And then she was inching up to his ear, heavy breathing and an audibly hard swallow as he rubbed her, pinching her swollen clit between his fingers as close to rhythmically as he could get with her jerking hips.

"Oh, my god," she said, and then she repeated it, over and over, a constant stream of pleads to God in his ear. He went twice as hard at the begging tone of his voice, his forearm growing sore, and he could feel the wrinkles on his fingers from her wetness catching against her clit. Her body jumped, her thighs closing in on his hand. "Keep - just keep - I think I'm - "

But there was no thinking, because now she was coming, her thighs going into a vice on his arm so that his fingers couldn't even move, captured by the pulsing of her cunt. Her mouth opened wide on his jaw, soundless now as her fingers pulled his shirt down so hard he could hear some of the stitches tearing. And there was him, watching her through it all, even more silent than she was, his heart pounding and blood roaring and it hit him how hard he was all over again, nothing short of an aching strain.

He tried to ignore it, pulling his hand free when her legs had relaxed, pulling the skirt of her dress back down over her knees. she was resting against his shoulder, hands not quite so tight on his sides. She kissed him over his shirt, and he heard her sigh.

"That was…" she said, searching for a word. "That was good."

_Good_ felt like a loaded word. He decided not to question it. "Yeah." He swallowed, his throat dry. "You're good, Beth."

She leaned back to look at him, neck still blushing bright red against the blue of her dress. "So're you," she said, and took his hand that had been on her and kissed his fingers. "You should stay a while. I want you to."

"For a while," he said, nodding, bending down to kiss her forehead again when her eyes flicked away. He would stay a while, sure.

Maybe he didn't have to leave at all.

**Too sappy? I'm definitely more comfortable in the angst territory, but again... fuck it. **


	20. Chapter 20

**Here we are! I like this chapter. I think y'all will, too. The journey now is a little less slow burn and a little more "how can I torture you as much as possible while still throwing them together at every opportunity."**

**p.s. can't believe I forgot this first go round - happy TWD return, everybody. I know there are theories out there but tbh I'm not subscribed to any of them. But if that's your gig, good luck. enjoy the Reedus arms. **

"I'm gonna get changed," Beth said after they'd been there a minute longer, resting against each other in silence. "Do you need anythin'?"

He shook his head, angling out so that she had room to slide off the counter, squeezing her hand before she left. So then Daryl was alone, staring at the spot she'd just been, wondering exactly what the fuck had just happened. How he had ended up here, when just hours before he'd been pretty damn sure he wouldn't be seeing her again at all, and now he had the picture of her coming - of him making her come - locked down tight in his head.

He raised his hand to scratch at his beard. He could still smell her on his fingers. Might even be able to taste where she'd dried on his skin, if he wanted. Her mouth tasted sweet. Her skin tasted sweet. No reason to think this wouldn't taste even sweeter than the rest of her. Sweeter than the sound of her coming on his hand, than the shudder that accompanied it and the strain of her legs locking around him.

Or maybe sweeter than those legs wrapping around him in other, tighter ways. That dress pushed back up around her hips, or fuck, just off completely. Maybe here on this counter with her nails burning down his back instead of just his arms, her teeth on his neck like she was going to suck the life right out of him. She'd gotten wet for his fingers, sure enough, drenching over him and leaving tracks of herself dripping down his hand, but there were other things. Things pressing against his jeans right now, aching not even close to a strong enough word, and he didn't see any way she wouldn't notice.

Considering the way her knees had almost buckled when she'd gotten down, and how her voice still hadn't come all the way down from the octave she'd reached, it didn't seem entirely too out of left field a possibility - just practically speaking - that she might plan on touching him, too.

"Just make yourself comfortable. I'll be out in a sec."

He might actually drop down to his knees dead on this floor, reduced to nothing but a shaking puddle of cells by the time she came back. He only had the vaguest grasp on his anatomy right now, barely keeping himself standing. All these people worried about her, but not a damn soul thinking about how he wasn't even going to make it through the night. Killed by blue dresses and blue eyes and a single shitty peach.

He braced himself on the counter, still warm from where she'd been sitting. There could be worse things. He'd been faced with a few of them, though none had looked as certain. Especially because, as far as he could tell, there was no way to get this under control, to at least bring himself down from raging to something more manageable. He didn't think he'd ever needed to try before, not even when he was closer to her age. Never wanted someone so bad it felt like his gut was actually on fire, and he'd been hard before and he'd fucked girls before, but never had he been this straining hard, like he was going to burst just waiting for her to come back into the room. Like he was hard and it wasn't even for himself.

Just for her. He was here for her.

"Is this you comfortable?" She'd come back without him hearing, wearing a soft blue tank and pink cotton shorts with the string untied so it brushed against her thighs. Her cuff was still on her wrist, as well as the thin chain around her neck that glowed silver against her chest still flushed red. "I was thinkin' the couch or somethin'."

He'd told her he'd stay and he would, but fuck if he hadn't underestimated what that actually meant for him. Wading into the deep end and staying there even while he drowned. "Got any water?" he asked, voice as dry as his throat.

"Yeah, if you don't mind tap," she said, passing into the kitchen and reaching past him into the cupboard for a cup. She pushed against his side as she did it, and he wasn't sure if it even mattered whether it was on purpose or not. "Your brother not expectin' you?"

"Told him not to," he said, still turned into the counter.

She went to the sink, and he took a breath of the air that seemed to have flooded in as soon as she left his side. "He know where you are?"

"Don't really keep tabs," he said, and when she didn't answer he finally turned around, his whole torso hunched. "Probably figured it out, though. Merle's dumb, but he ain't stupid."

She was holding his water in both hands, looking less than happy. "Just wondered. Since my family's been so welcomin'. Curious how your's felt about it."

_It._ He really wasn't sure on that front, if he was being honest. Not as bad as her's, most likely, but probably wouldn't be too pleased. As far as he knew, Merle just thought he was fucking her, which would be weird enough. If he knew he was just here to watch her cut some fruit, he'd catch fucking hell for it. "Your mom was," he said, changing the subject, looking down at his hands and skimming out the dirt that still lingered under some of his nails. He thought it was information she'd like to know, even if she wasn't asking. "Welcomin'."

"How is she?" she asked, and for the first time that night her voice sounded small. "You talk to her at all?"

He raised one shoulder, wishing he had more to offer. "Not much. Didn't look mad or nothin'."

She rolled her lips inward before reaching to hand him his water. "I'll see 'em soon. Tomorrow, maybe. I don't want to be upset. Too many things goin' to be upset."

He took the drink. "Like what?"

"Work. Helpin' out here." She tilted her head, a sly smile teasing around her mouth. "You."

And, just like that, he was hard all over again, any softness he'd managed gone as she looked at him with an expression that bordered near mischief. She took two steps over to him, pushing up to kiss him. He thought it was meant to be brief, but he sank into it, following her as she went flat on her feet. He could feel her smiling, feel the press of it against his mouth, and her hands danced under his shirt to just graze up the trail of hair at his stomach. She ducked to kiss his jaw gently, one of her fingers tracing back down his stomach to his jeans with a touch as light as her breathing. She didn't go further, still nuzzling into his neck with kisses that left his skin wet. His hips were pushing against her, cock pressing hard into her belly, but she only leaned into him, giving him a hint of the friction he was practically begging her for.

But then, suddenly and weirdly, he was sure he didn't want her to. Sure that everything that had happened had already been more than enough, and sure that if she even laid so much as a finger on him, it would be more than he could handle. As if just coming in his pants wasn't bad enough, and he wasn't even sure when he'd last - when had anyone last -

"Daryl," she said into his neck, gasping as she rolled her hips against him, her fingers starting to tease down his zipper. "I can - I _want_ to, lemme -"

He took her hand in his, clutching her fingers hard. She froze, but he shook his head, keeping his eyes shut tight. "Don't."

She stepped down from him, but let him keep hold of her hand. "Did I do somethin'?"

"No. Didn't do nothin' wrong." He wasn't even sure where to begin, and somewhere in the back of his head Merle was sharing some choice words with him, but before he could say anything she'd reached up to kiss his cheek.

"Don't have to explain if you don't want to," she said, and when he opened his eyes she was looking at him with a gentle sort of expression.

He didn't know if he'd ever been more grateful.

She twisted her hand in his so she could squeeze him, pulling him towards the living room. "We can just watch somethin'?" She glanced towards the clock, smiling when he allowed her to move him a few steps. "It's late, but… you can stay. If you want."

"For a while," he added, though it was more o a joke than anything else. He was here for as long as she kept him, wrapped up in the thankful satisfaction of her presence. She shot a wider smile at him, guiding him back towards the couch where he sat, letting himself sink into the cushions, picturing what she'd looked like when she slept here. What she might dream about, if she had something different she'd do with her hair. He thought about that, about her, while she got things settled around them. Turning the lights off and the TV on, tossing him a couple pillows and a blanket from where she'd kept it folded on the coffee table, stepping over his outstretched legs and hesitating for a second before sitting down next to him. It was only a couple seconds after that she was taking one of the pillows and fluffing it on his lap, laying on her couch with her head on his thigh and her feet hanging off the side. He wasn't sure where to put his hand, so he opted for putting around the back of the couch.

She settled in closer to him, turning up the volume a little. If she was uncomfortable, she didn't show it, and he was honestly too tired to give a shit about himself. He looked at her hair spread in a pretty golden halo over the pillow on his thighs, watching it turn different hues from the screen. He kind of wanted touch it. See how it looked wrapped around his fingers.

"You ever seen this?" she asked, leaving her arm flopped off the edge when she put the remote down.

He didn't even glance at the screen. "Uh uh," he answered, rubbing his thumb between his fingers. "Don't watch TV much."

"TV? What about movies?"

"Not those neither." He sighed, letting his eyes drift close for a second. "When we was kids - Merle and me - we had a shitty little set up. My mom didn't wanna fuckin' deal with us, so she bought us a couple movies. Sat us down with 'em and told us to leave her the hell alone."

That hadn't even been the fucking question she'd asked, but he was tired and relatively calm and he didn't think she'd mind. She hummed a note, and then, as casual as ever, she reached up and plucked his hand off where he'd placed it, bringing it back down so his arm was curled around her and his hand was resting on her breast. "What movies did you watch?"

He swallowed, staring at the screen that had blurred into little more than colors talking to each other. Judging by the music, something very dramatic was happening, but he couldn't bring himself to care. "Don't even fuckin' remember. There was three. Just watch 'em one after the other. Rewind 'em. Start again." Her hand on his was keeping him on her, and she shifted a little so she was pressing up into him.

"You watched three movies over and over and you don't remember what they are?" She didn't even sound affected, her free arm stretching out so her fingers hung limp.

"Yeah. Well. Been a while, girl," he grunted, even though he knew age didn't have shit to do with it. He rubbed at his jaw, shifting his legs a little, looking down at what he could see of her faces in the flashes of light. She looked almost drowsy, her breaths coming a little deeper under his hand, and when he squeezed lightly at her she only smiled faintly.

"I never did watch much, either. We didn't have a TV for a while. Too much stuff to do around the house." He was listening to her talk, something oddly appealing about the picture of her out in the cool light of morning, hair up high and body working. But he was also feeling her under his palm, the feel of her heart beating.

There were things he wanted to do. Her cunt was just there under that blanket, hot for his fingers, and the shorts wouldn't even get in the way, and his angle was good - but that wasn't where she'd put his hand. "What'd you do?" he asked, and - trying to be as effortless as she had been - hooked his finger around the slight V of her top and pulled it slowly down until he could see her breast, the fabric kept off by the curve of her.

He watched as the ring finger on her limp hand twitched. "It was different every day," she said, and he was gratified to hear that she at least sounded on the verge of alert. Her hand that had been on his went instead to her stomach, letting him move as he wanted. "We had chickens. Cows. Horses. I liked that best."

He let her words paint him more of that picture as he traced around her sternum with a finger, looking at her like hadn't gotten to before. He watched with something like curiosity as her small nipple pebbled smaller when he drifted closer, feeling how soft she was here, how easily her skin gave in to his touch. "Why?"

She swallowed, head still turned to the screen. "I liked ridin'. I used to compete, but I like doin' it for fun more." He thought back on that picture in her house of her holding a trophy and nodded, finally close enough now to run the pad of his finger over her nipple, passing over it back and forth. "I'd practice guitar," she said, her voice gone quieter and a little husky.

He paused. "You play?"

"Yeah," she said, looking at her splayed out fingers, dancing them in a little wave. "Didn't have TV but there was always music."

he let his fingers resume, more absentminded now. Touching her just to do it. Just because she'd wanted him to. "Ain't seen a guitar."

She breathed a laugh. "Yeah. I left it. Wish I hadn't now."

He could see that, too, her sitting on that same porch he'd been on earlier that day, guitar on her lap, maybe wearing that blue dress, hair down this time so he could see it curling over her shoulders. "Why don't you get it back, then?"

"It's not that easy," she said, and she sounded tired once again.

But if there was something she'd been showing him, it was that it could be that easy. "Yeah. It is. Just go get it."

She laughed, curling her hand over his on her chest. "Maybe you're right."

He nodded once, but fell quiet. He hadn't meant to stay the night, another thing he didn't thin he'd ever done. But they weren't sharing a bed, and even if he wanted to he couldn't think of a single exit that wasn't shitty. And he didn't want to leave. He was tired, and sore, and she was warm, and even if he had no damn clue what was going on in this movie - if it was the same one, even - he didn't mind the voices. Didn't mind the way she'd gone quiet, either, eyes barely slivered open, her chest rising and falling with even breaths under his hand.

Beth played guitar. She rode horses. She liked music and having her clit pinched between his fingers and his palm on her breast. And she, he thought he could safely assume, liked him.

There were worse thoughts to fall asleep to.

**we still have so, so far to go. **


	21. Chapter 21

**This is your Happy New Years/Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays/don't hate me present. I had some things come up, and this season has honestly been less than inspiring, and writing this just took way, waaaay longer than I anticipated. It's hard to write smut when there's family around, weirdly enough. **

**BUT! I haven't been completely out of the action. If any of you have seen my other ISF story recently, you'll have noticed that it's gotten an revamp. The first five chapters have been rewritten with the help of a beta, and the rest are in a similar process that I'm slowly working through. There might even be some new smutty type things happening in there if you care to reread. Hoping to keep working through that before I post a new chapter. **

**I know I'm less than consistent, but for those of you that are still with me/PMing me to check on my progress - I promise I WILL tell you all if I stop writing either of my stories. To make up for my absence this time, I have sprinkled (poured) some smut in here. Enjoy and thank you thank you thank you and also sorry. **

Beth's dinner at home could've gone worse. It was quiet, sure, and uncomfortable at times, but the food was good and her mother was smiling and her father's chair didn't feel as blatantly empty. She'd even agreed to stay the night, to the suppressed delight of her mom.

She was in her bedroom now, sitting on the floor at the side of her bed, trying to remember what it felt like to be here before everything happened. The bedroom where she'd slept, the living room where she'd learned to play…. The bathroom where she'd cut herself.

Yes. There were those memories here, too. And there was Daryl, who she knew was aware that there was some big mystery of a something. She still hasn't quite figured out how to get around to that, yet, how she could phrase it without feeling like she was making a fool of herself.

There was a knocking at her door, and she looked up in time to see Maggie swinging it open to lean her shoulder against the frame. "Good havin' you home."

"It's good to be home," she admitted quietly, looking around her room which felt oddly distant in its familiarity. Never quite grown up, walls still yellow with the flowery trim, neat pile of stuffed animals in the corner. She'd left so much behind. It didn't look like they'd moved anything, either. Like she'd died, too. "Didn't move anythin'."

"Knew you were comin' back." She drummed her fingers against the knob before letting go. "Think it's time we talked."

She'd figured it couldn't stay light forever. "About what?"

That got her a hard stare. "You're gonna pretend you don't know?"

"I don't see why. I'm here now. We all got jobs to do. Mine just aren't here anymore."

Maggie came over, sitting down next to her. "Alright then. I'll start. How old is he?"

"Like it even matters how old he is." She was skirting around the fact that she wasn't even sure, but past a certain number she doubted it made a difference. "It's not about him. I can do things without someone tellin' me to. I didn't meet him til after."

"I don't like it, Beth." She sighed, staring ahead and crossing her arms and her legs. "Too weird a time for you to be meeting for it to be a coincidence."

"Well. It was. And I like him. I - I think he likes me." It was hard to explain, now that she was being asked to. She wasn't anywhere near calling him boyfriend, the very thought of the word so blatantly juvenile that it made her want to cringe. "It's not like what you're thinkin'. We talk, mostly. He's real quiet." She looked at Maggie, trying to figure out how her words were being taken, but she couldn't discern anything other than that she was listening. "His name's Daryl."

She scoffed. "Great. Sounds like everythin' we'd hope for."

"Don't be like that. You don't even know him. You'd like him, if you did."

"I did meet him. He was here." She sniffed. "Mama had the sides done. He was here."

"He told me. Think you freaked him out pretty bad," Beth said, smiling. "But it ain't his fault. It really - he told me to come back, he told me what you said, but - " Again, she was having a hard time explaining herself. She'd never had anything similar to this conversation with Maggie before. She couldn't imagine the roles being reversed, of anyone trying to tell Maggie to do anything. Beth was different. "I'm old enough to choose this."

"Old enough," Maggie repeated.

Beth sighed. "I know why you did it. Why you didn't tell me about Daddy. I get it." She could feel Maggie staring at her from her peripheries. She looked so, so sad, and even more tired. But Beth didn't want to be sad anymore. She didn't want to be so angry that she couldn't even look at this house without feeling it. There were so many other things she could be feeling, things that didn't leave such a bitter, unfamiliar taste in her mouth. "You were wrong, though."

Maggie moved close enough so that their arms were touching. "I know. I see that now." She nudged her shoulder. "When'd you grow up, huh?"

She shrugged. She wasn't real sure when that had happened, when the world had shifted into indiscernible grays and everything had stopped being easy. For a while she'd been in that gray. But she didn't feel that way now. "I dunno." She picked at the nail polish on her fingers. "You tell anyone? About Daryl?"

"You kiddin'?" Maggie stood up, and at last she was looking like at her like she used to, something other than lingering resentment. "You wanna be all grown up, you can be the one to tell 'em." She walked towards the door, hesitating to look back at her. "Love you."

"Love you, too," she answered, and watched as Maggie closed the door behind her, and even if things weren't healed she could feel them being soothed over. She watched the light under the door disappear, listened for the sound of Shaun snoring down the hall, the creaks of old floors and walls that had always comforted her to sleep. She checked her phone - 2 A.M. - and debated on what to do next. All things considered, this whole thing could've been worse. She'd always known, in the back of her mind, that she could come back here. That there would be this bed, and there would be her mom and her brother and her sister, and that some of the ghosts would fade.

But she hadn't predicted that being back here would make her miss other things even more. So she touched on his name on her phone, listening to it ring, knowing he'd answer.

"Beth?" He sounded groggy, like he'd just woken up. Or maybe just tired. He always seemed exhausted, or on the verge of it.

"Hi." She paused. "I wake you?"

"Nah." She heard some shuffling, and a few seconds later a door closing. Outside, maybe. "S'late, though."

"You care?" she asked, smiling, and she could swear she heard him smile, too.

"No." A flick of his lighter and a deep breath, and she let himself picture him smoking out in that hallway, ash drifting down and smoke coating his sleeve. "Need somethin'?"

"No, just… Just wanted to talk to you, is all." She lay down down on her floor, staring up at the ceiling and the little glow in the dark stickers of stars and planets she'd stuck there years ago. "How are you?"

He took a draw before he answered. "Fine."

"Just fine?"

"You expect different?" Another breath, and then a sigh. "You?"

"Fine." She closed her eyes, listening to him breathe. Maybe if she tried hard enough she'd hear his pulse, hear what his hands were doing or what face he was making.

"Where are ya?"

"Still here." She licked her lips, pulling out her hair from underneath her neck so it fanned on the carpet around her head.

"Yeah?" Another deeper breath. "How'd it go?"

"Brother's out lookin' for you with a shotgun as we speak."

He didn't laugh. "Your brother?"

"Yeah. But I'm not bein' serious. Decided he didn't need to know anythin' just yet."

"Funny," he grunted, something like agreement, but there was tension in his voice.

"Sorry," she said. "Probably shouldn't joke about that."

"'Bout what?" he asked, still brisk and clearly aggravated.

"Just - you know," she tried, suddenly weary. Maybe this had been a bad idea. "We talked about this. You said you were okay."

He didn't answer for a second, and she heard him lighting another cigarette. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she said, and took on a gentler tone, feeling like she was on fragile footing. "Did talk to Maggie, though."

He only grunted. She guessed it might still be a sensitive topic. "I think it's better. Not that she approves, but… She wasn't yelling, anyways."

"She should." She could hear his breathing still, uneven. "Wouldn't blame her."

"Stop." This wasn't something she'd wanted to get into, now or ever, really. Maybe he was right. Maybe he was definitely right. But it didn't _feel_ like it, like he was as old as she knew he must be, and even if they were right, she knew she was, too. "I told you how I feel. You told me you wanted me there. So unless that's changed…"

"Not what I said," he answered after a couple of seconds.

"Good. Then just… I dunno." She sighed. "It's weird being back in my room. Feels like it's been ages."

"Hasn't been," he said, and she was relieved that he hadn't chosen to push the issue. "Describe it to me."

"Describe it to you?" she asked. "You were here. You've seen it."

"Not your room." His voice was a little huskier now, from the smoke or something else. "Go on. I'm listenin'."

"Well," she started, opening her eyes to look around, as if she didn't know this place. "The walls are yellow. I got a dresser. A desk. Nothin' interestin'."

He hummed like he didn't believe her, but didn't ask anything else.

She sighed again, a little exasperated. "I got a couple ribbons up from competitions. Some pictures. Stuffed animals. Books." She hesitated a second. "A bed."

He didn't even answer at first, and she thought he might be waiting for her to expand, but then he spoke. "When are you comin' back?"

She smiled. "Tomorrow. I'm workin'. Will I see you?"

"I'll be there. Towards the end." She could hear he was back inside now, his voice lowered a few pitches, loud snoring in the background. "See you."

"See you," she said, and hung up the phone.

* * *

Beth seemed happier the next night at the bar. Not that she wasn't happy before. But better. So maybe things had actually gone alright. Maybe it wasn't about to implode, to rip him to shreds and leave him for dead.

Maybe.

He'd gotten here at closing, like he'd said he would. Sitting, no drink, ignoring the suspicious looks the brunette was tossing his way. Waiting for those moments when Beth would look up and smile at him, eyes blue and cheeks bright.

He was needing that tonight. Something about her going home - there had been a naggling little thread of thought that maybe she wouldn't come back. That she'd get back home in that place with the pictures and the fence and the field and the history, the family that wanted her, and realize how big she'd fucked up by dipping down to involve him. He'd already made peace with the fact that whatever pull happened in his chest around her was here to stay, but also couldn't ignore the fact that it made things risky in a whole new way. He wanted her to stay, but if she left and this ended there wouldn't be a damn thing he could say or do or even try.

So he'd look up, wait to catch her eye, see her smile, and feel a little bit less like the ground was about to be ripped out from underneath him. He'd thought she'd looked out of place here, at first, but that wasn't right. She had a way of making spaces hers, even and she looked as comfortable now as she had on that kitchen counter. He wasn't afraid to look at her now. Wasn't too worried what would happen if she caught him staring, because she was pretty when he had her gasping with his hand between her legs and she was pretty now.

"You were right," she said when they were walking out at the end of the night, her hand on his elbow.

"'Bout what?"

"Gettin' the guitar back. It was easy." She kept hold of his arm when she started moving towards his bike, and when he turned around she was holding her keys in her hand. "Sarah's home. Which means baby is home."

He looked at her, not sure what she was asking. "Okay."

"Okay. So I was thinking we could go somewhere else."

Nothing too new there. "Where?"

"Maybe your place?" She followed up quickly when she saw his face. "You met my family."

"Didn't meet anyone," he said, putting his hands in his pockets. "You met him. Ain't a good idea."

She stepped closer. Another dress tonight, this one yellow with some kind of lace at the hem and neck. She had sincerity written all over her face, and he braced himself for whatever ideas she was about to put into him. "If he's your family, then I want to know him. I don't think it'll be as bad as you think."

"It would be." Or maybe it wouldn't. What the hell did he know? Only that he didn't want this to happen, whatever she had in mind. As if the first times they'd met had gone smoothly. He shrugged when she continued to stare. "No."

She seemed about to push the issue, but then sighed, pushing her keys out to him. "Can you drive, then? I got an idea." She gave him the keys, holding onto his hand. "I'll drop you back here when we're done."

"Don't sound like I got a choice."

She shrugged. "Guess we're goin', then."

And so they did. She told him where to go and he followed her instructions. He only spoke when, after they'd been on one stretch of a road, he noticed her seemingly openly staring at him, her body turned in her seat with her back against the window, her toes tucked under his thigh.

"Quit it," he said when another glance confirmed she was still looking.

"Quit what?"

"Starin'." Except she still was. "Fuckin' weird."

"You were lookin' at me all night," she said, not smug but confident all the same. "So that makes you weird, too."

He didn't say anything, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel, feeling weird. He couldn't seem to wrangle himself into any one position of comfort with her, going from reveling in being at her side to feeling some fucked up sense of guilt that randomly made itself known in his head.

"I'm starin' because I want to." He nearly squirmed in his seat. That somehow made it worse. "Next left."

He did what she asked, ending up in a huge span of pavement surrounded by trees. He looked at her, but she just told him to keep driving, only stopping him when they'd reached the center of what he realized now was a parking lot.

"It's county fair grounds," she explained as she unbuckled. "There's a fair here in the fall over there, see? Where the pavement changes? And they have a gun show here. A rodeo. But the rest of the year it's just empty."

"Like to hang around in empty parking lots? That's your idea?"

"Yeah. Like you have anything better," she quipped as she got out of the car. By the time he followed her out she was hopping up onto the hood, crossing her legs and fixing her dress around her. She watched as he came to sit next to her, moving closer so her leg was practically on his. "I don't come here for the parking lot. The stars are just nice out here."

He shrugged. He guessed they were. It got like that the further out you went, far enough out so that other other lights couldn't mess up the view.

"And it's quiet. People don't really come out here unless the fair is goin'." She leaned back, looking towards the sky. "Don't you think so?"

He nodded, mostly because he felt that was the right answer, but also because sure. This was nice. It always was with her. She pulled in closer, hooking her arm around his so that her hand held onto his bicep, and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Miss me?" she asked, squeezing his arm.

He hummed. "Only gone a day, girl."

She hummed back in a disappointed tone in response, shifting her legs so they were back on top of his. They stayed like that for a while, not talking this time but listening to the simmer of summer cicadas. It really didn't feel but a minute later that the niceness of it began to change, a draft of cool wind that had her drawing in closer to him, her face into his neck. But then one of her hands began drifting from his arm to the chest of his jacket, fingers curling around his zipper.

He didn't think he could feel bad about this. It had been her, before, her slim thighs pulling him into her hips, her hands burrowing streaks down his shoulders and burning him to her, melting into her skin. More and more he was feeling like he was just along for her ride, following the trail she seemed comfortable blazing. Same as he'd been doing with Merle for years, fucking around to nowhere, except this didn't feel the same at all. Being around her felt less like the aimless, dangerous circles around towns that never changed.

So he closed his eyes while her mouth pushed up into his jaw, smiling when he felt the little dart of her tongue and the stretch of her lips. He turned down to her, catching the side of her neck with his hand, and then there was sweetness. Sweetness on his tongue, sweetness of whatever she was wearing on her lips. She got to her knees, moving her hands to wrap into his hair.

He wasn't sure if it was her or him or some combination of them both that made her flow so easily, pushing one leg over him and pulling herself up so she was straddling him. She smiled down at him, then bent down, keeping her eyes on his while she caught his lip between her teeth.

Girls had ridden him before, nameless and faceless in his memory. Something appealing about not being much of a participant, of being able to lie there while half his mind wandered. But there was nothing like that now. His arms wrapped around her tiny waist small enough for his hands to catch her sides, bringing her down and into him hard enough to feel what she'd pulled out of him. There has been a time that he'd stopped them when things got this far, when just her lips on his skin had made him hard enough to bust through his pants, but now he wanted her to feel. He wanted her to feel him, what she did, how powerful she was, how at her mercy she made him. How much he liked it.

She moaned. She moaned, a high pitched whimper of a thing, but she moaned and his hands found her ass and he pulled her down hard, grinding her up his pelvis while her head tossed back and her fingernails yanked down the V of his shirt. With her own hands, she pulled the sleeves of her dress down her shoulders, shrugging out of them so that the fabric fell around her waist. It was dark out here, but he could still see her, see her silvery pale chest, the line of her tan, the darker pink of her nipples. He buried his head between her tits, knocking her back a few inches, her hands flying to clasp the back of his head.

It took a second to get his bearings. He wondered when this was ever going to stop being so overwhelming, or if it ever would be. Or if he even cared.

He pushed his mouth over, feeling the difference in texture as he went from the hard bone of her sternum to the soft swell of her breast, the fine hairs that touched on his lips, the pebbly hardness of her nipple on his cheek. He took his time getting there, for his sake as much as hers; he could feel the vibrations of the thudding of her heart, the not so delicate pull of his hair at her fingers.

And then he had an idea. He moved one of his hands from her waist down her pelvis until he was cupping her between her legs. Last time he'd been here, she'd guided him; he didn't need any such help this time, pushing past her underwear, past the wiry curls until his hand was on her cunt. A little shudder passed through her as he did it, her hands pressing his head against her chest.

So this was different, different but familiar, and he didn't need her to tell him where she wanted his hands this time. He pushed his finger through her already spread lips, and there was her clit, hard and slick against him. He focused on the rise and fall of her chest as he felt through the thick wetness of her, touching on her clit in tight strokes of the pad of his finger. He opened his eyes when legs spread wider, thighs shaking as her whole torso clenched. There was that flow again, easing his fingers faster and his hold on her waist tighter, and when she whimpered he turned his face into her breast until his pushing an open mouthed kiss on her nipple hard on his tongue.

Her back arched, the curve so extreme it nearly pushed him backwards to the hood. She grabbed at his hand between her legs, pressing him more insistently against her. He smiled at the tension he could feel all over her, kissing her again before leaving a stripe of his tongue along the length of her breast

"I _want _to, just c'mon, I - I want to," she said next to his ear, and then repeated it, bearing her hips down on him while her hand came down to clutch at his cheek. She was - and there was no other word for it - begging, her voice pleading as if she thought he needed convincing. This was beyond overwhelming. Natural, easy, and so fucking good, but pulling all of his senses in different directions. He couldn't make his lungs or his brain or any of his fucking organs keep up with his limbs, one hand between her thighs pressing clumsily against her hard little nub of a clit, the other arm wrapping around her waist to bring her down as her knees pressed in against him. He wanted so badly to give her anything, trying to make his fingers work in tandem with how she was moving. It wasn't like it was hard, no; he'd made this happen before, however messily, but he had. He'd gotten the slick of her on his fingers. He'd seen the face she made.

But then she moved, her hand pressuring him down away from her clit, wetness making its slippery way between his fingers. He froze when he realized where this was going, resisting against her hand.

She froze when he did, hand on his cheek moving his hair back from his face. "Have you -?"

He shook his head, his mouth dry, his hand squeezing instinctively where it gripped her on her side. "No. Not like - no." Which he was aware, somewhere, was weird. This was something he should know about, considering where his cock had been, but he just… hadn't. Hadn't really seen the point.

He felt rather than heard her breath. In. Out. He probably should've said something else. There was maybe some kind of conversation he was supposed to have here. He didn't fucking know.

"I haven't, not with - just - can I show you?" she asked, like she wasn't sure what his answer was.

Beautiful girl. He could only nod a little too frantically, feeling her hand make its way down his shoulder and arm until she was holding onto the back of his palm, guiding him slowly back between her thighs. Sighing almost inaudibly as she pushed him over her clit, guiding him lower until her own finger pressed gingerly against her opening. No hesitation, her slim finger against his, both of them slipping gently inside of her.

His next breath was loud, nearly breaking into something of a whine. He wasn't sure he had much control in that at all. She'd pitched her hips toward him, instinctively making the next press of their fingers more smooth so that when she drew them back out, she grabbed onto his wrist instead. Guiding him still, but the next move of his hand was all his own. Fucking her on his hand.

She was something to behold.

She was warm. More than warm, she was searing, swinging forward and down so that his finger slid further inside of her. He finally took some initiative then, pressing the heel of his palm against her pubic bone while he pushed knuckle deep. She closed her eyes with her face just above his his, pretty arch of her eyebrows screwed up as she furrowed them when he fucked into her tightness so wet and hot it drenched his skin, legs straining tight against the dress that constrained them.

He picked up speed without her needing to tell him too, trying to get her clit with his palm or his thumb, rubbing against it with every withdrawal of his finger. She wasn't moving smoothly, but fuck it was graceful, one sinuous stroke of her hips onto him after another. Her chest ended up in his face again, and he kissed her there again, tasting the salty sweat she'd worked out of herself.

There wasn't a warning this time, no words or motions that seemed to get her there. He felt the walls of her cunt start to close on him, and he rested his chin on her chest just in time to see her head snap back and then forwards, her body locking in place with her his finger still inside of her. Her eyes closed tight into a wince, her teeth closing in on her lower lip almost trapping in her groan as her hands clutched tight to wherever they could grab him. It wasn't a second later that she came, hips rutting on his touch as she gushed onto his hand with walls that seemed desperate to suck him in.

He didn't even realize that she'd pulled words out of him, too, a continuous mantra switching between urging her and praising her, but when she was done he couldn't think of anything to say at all. She stayed still, smiling when he pulled out of her and rubbed his hand on her thigh as he went, leaving a trail of herself behind. She looked down at him, humming a little as her shoulders relaxed with the rest of her.

But then her hands went to his shoulders, and he sat back as she touched down his chest, making a very clear path to where he was pitching an obvious tent between them. "I want to see you," she said, getting his buckle undone before he said something.

"Beth," he grunted, a little muffled, and even though he wasn't sure what he was trying to say she stopped. He couldn't quite look at her, keeping his eyes trained on the purpley flush dissipating towards her collarbone. Her hair had fallen forward around her shoulders, skating into his view. "Don't have to."

"Okay," she finally said quietly, hand still on his thigh. She didn't ask why, which was good considering how little he thought he'd be able to say if she did. She took one of his hands, the one he'd touched her with, picking it up and placing it on her cheek. He was still wet with her, and when she felt it he saw her stomach suck towards her spine on the sudden exhale she made. "Please let me touch you," she said, almost too loud in the surrounding quiet, just pushing the surrealism higher. "You make me feel good, I want you to feel good."

He didn't think it could get much better than making her feel good. But she was palming up the length of him that pressed against his jeans, and she'd turned her mouth into his hand, and her voice was such a soothing presence in his ears.

So he nodded, once, his lips pressed tight together, and she gave him one of those mind shattering smiles before her hands went to his jeans, pulling at the buckle. She kissed him then, catching his mouth full force, and her tongue on his teeth was almost enough to make him miss the moment her little hands pulled his boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free, hitting against his stomach.

He hissed and she froze, pulling off his mouth and giving him her eyes for the briefest of moments before she was looking down at him between them. Her hands rested warm on his pelvis, and for seconds that felt like they were physically stretching into eternity, she just looked, her breathing picking back up. But then she touched him, testing her grip around the base of him and squeezing gently. He closed his eyes, dropping his head back between his shoulder blades, but that just made everything worse, he only thing real her fingers dragging up to the head. She touched gently over his slit, tracing the ridges she found and then the vein going back down.

"You're so smooth," she said, mostly to herself, but there was a certain huskiness to it that made his stomach clench. Her touches continued, gaining confidence when his breathing grew heavier. Her hands became almost excited, moving down to bring his balls into the mix, kissing his jaw when he whined.

"Beth," he said, feeling every pass of her hand bringing pushing the flutters in his pelvis higher. "You gotta - I ain't gonna last," he said between breaths, almost apologizing.

"Good," she said, sounding just as on the verge as he was, eager and wild. "Show me. Show me what to do."

She didn't need him to show her. She could just touch him, like this, forever, and it would be alright. This was nice, too, nice in a completely different but equally powerful way. Wanting her was new. Her wanting him back was, he was quickly deciding, even better. So he took her hand, pulling her a little faster, adjusting her grip a little tighter. Together they stroked him until he was so far lost he couldn't move his hand, muscles low in his stomach flexing and tugging, blood roaring in his ears and flushing along his skin, anticipation like electricity creeping slowly down to settle in the base of his spine. He was making noises, he knew, but they were completely beyond his grasp of control, and when she brought her other hand down to cup his balls and he came undone the only word he was certain of was her name. She was kissing him, he was dimly aware, from his jaw to his cheek to the corner of his limp mouth.

When he came back down he felt numb. But, for once, it was good. For once, literally in her hands, all he felt was good.


	22. Chapter 22

**This chapter jumps around a bit but also finally gets to a place it needed to go. Also: I honestly was so surprised and so grateful for all the attention the last chapter got after just disappearing for so long. I didn't respond because there was some kind of issue with reviews for a while, but hugs to all of you, seriously. **

**Unrelated but something that (hopefully) will be good news: I apparently missed Bethyl Smut Week? So obviously I will try to be contributing to that even though I am late. I dunno if that'll come as a one shot or as an addition to I See Fire or what, but eventually that will be a thing. **

Daryl never really came back down. He didn't even know that he ever could, feeling her digging her nails in and just dragging him over the edge where she wanted him to go.

He'd always go where she wanted him to be, if she made him feel like this. Like he was boneless, but also bloodless and brainless, just not even existing except for where her fingers brushed on top of his fingers from where she lay beside him.

"Did I break you?" Almost cocky, full of pleasure with herself. For him, too.

"I look broken to you?"

"Kinda," she said, and then she was leaning in closer. "I liked watchin' you like that. That I could do that."

She could do that. She could do anything she wanted to him. But he didn't say that, only trying to breathe.

"Are you asleep?" she whispered when he didn't answer, putting her hand more over his.

He wrenched his eyes open, feeling weightless and unimaginably heavy at the same time. "No."

"Good," she said, tapping the toes of her boots together. "I was thinkin'."

"Hmm," he said, trying to force himself back to life. "Don't."

"You haven't even heard what I'm thinkin'," she said. "You might like it."

He sighed, and she took that as his go-ahead. "We could do somethin' tomorrow," she said, and turned on her side with her hands tucked up under her cheek.

"We're doin' somethin' now," he said, letting himself look at her a couple seconds more before tearing his eyes back to the sky. So many stars. Endless.

"No, I mean _do_ somethin'," she said, reaching out to nudge his leg with her foot. "Like. Go out, maybe."

"Have to work," he said. And he did. The fact that it got him out of what he had a sinking suspicion he wouldn't like was just bonus.

"But that's during the day, right? We could do somethin' at night. I know a place."

Of course she did. She knew every place, seemingly nowhere left untouched. He didn't know how he'd ever managed to avoid her at all. "What place?"

She grinned. "A bar. One that - I can get into it, is the point." She nudged him again and smiled wider. "We could go dancin'."

He just looked at her, but she was already laughing. "I could dance. And you could watch."

He grunted. "Yeah, you go on dancin'."

"That a yes?" she lilted.

"I ever said no?"

"Yeah," she said. "You could. We could do somethin' else."

He eyed her, looking for any sign of manipulation. Reverse psychology was a thing he knew about, and the kind of concept he thought she'd be real familiar with. "I'll watch you dance."

She smiled, and then pulled herself closer to where he laid, letting her forehead touch on his shoulder while her heat sank into him.

He turned his head, smelling her hair, thinking of her hands and what they could do. "Why don't you play somethin'?" he asked, and it was a spur of the moment question but he knew it was the right one.

"You mean the guitar?" she asked, her voice muffled. "Like what?"

"Dunno." He shrugged as best he could without jostling her. "Anythin'. You choose."

She sat up, contemplating for a second before sliding down off the car. A minute later she was back, case in hand, placing it next to him with a thunk before climbing back up. She sat down angled to him, crossing her legs and draping the skirt of her dress over her knees.

"What'd you pick?" he asked as she got the thing out, placing it gingerly over her lap. She already looked so at home, like she'd always been this way, running her hand up the frets.

"You'll see," she murmured quietly, looking at him once more before she started playing. Soft but loud, hearing her fingers as they plucked at singular notes. He didn't ask what it was, and it didn't matter that he didn't know. She was playing and he was allowed to listen and he was alright with that being enough.

She went into something else, still some tune he didn't recognize but that he quickly decided he liked, and he let the stars blur out of his vision until he closed his eyes. Her hood was still a little warm from the engine, and it felt nice against his back. He relaxed a little more, listening to the easy strumming of her fingers, and when she began to hum along it sounded so natural that he almost didn't catch when it started. He let one eye open a sliver, but she was looking out around them absently as she played like she wasn't even thinking about it.

He decided not to say anything at all and just let her play a while, closing his eyes again and settling his head back in his hands. He was still feeling languid, warmth she'd given him all in his limbs, and when he felt sleep pulling breaths deeper in his lungs and quieting his thoughts, he didn't bother fighting it at all.

* * *

He worked the next day. More landscaping, but he got paid and they needed rent. Merle hadn't been there when he'd gotten home that night, but he was there when Daryl stepped out of the bedroom after showering, sitting on the couch like he'd never left. Daryl didn't ask where he'd been, just throwing a nod his way before going to where he'd thrown off his shoes. Beth was picking him up, and he'd kind of hoped to leave before Merle had a chance to ask him where he was going. He hadn't been big on sharing, not about this, and he wasn't too interested in starting now.

But Merle had other ideas.

"Got somethin' for us tonight," he said, turning the TV down lower.

Daryl paused before slowly doing up his laces. "What?"

"What fuckin' difference does it make?" he asked, stretching out. "Poker. Beer. Pussy. Jack and Garth, that crew."

Daryl snorted. "Fuckin' dumbasses, both of 'em." And they were, trashy meth heads who'd dragged Merle down when they'd crashed in their living room for a while a couple months ago. "What if I don't want to?"

There was dead, heavy silence for a second, as musty as the fucking carpet he'd ruined. "The fuck else you got to do?" he asked, sounding almost amused. Like it was just so hard to believe. Daryl guessed it kinda was.

He paused, debating. So many wrong turns to be made here. So many wrong wires to cut. "Got plans."

"What the hell plans you been makin'?" Merle asked, confused, but then he laughed. "That little blonde piece from the bar? You fuckin' kiddin'?"

His face turned red, out of embarrassment or anger he wasn't sure. "So what?"

He leaned back, putting his feet back up on the table, looking relaxed now that he'd figured it out. "Man, you're a few cans short of a six pack of you still even thinkin' about it."

Daryl reached over, pushing his feet back to the ground. He ignored the look Merle shot his way, head turning so fast it nearly cracked. "Maybe I am thinkin' about it."

Merle put his feet back on the table, deliberately this time. "You foolin' yourself if you think it's that easy. Taught you better than that, boy."

Except it was. It could be. It had been that easy, as easy as calling her for a ride and as easy as planting a tree and as easy as closing his eyes and listening to her play. He didn't know why Merle had to make it so much harder than he knew it had to be. Why he had to make everything so hard. "Whatever" was all he said, feeling weirdly amped up now. He got up, shoes on, picking up the keys up from the table.

"Just gonna up and leave me here, bro? That your plan?" He'd sounded entertained before, but there was an edge this time.

"Didn't plan for nothin'," he muttered, resentful he was even being forced to have this conversation, that Merle would even fucking question him on being gone a couple nights when he could go for weeks without a word. "Ain't my damn fault you ain't even conscious to get off your ass," he said, and now his voice was escalating, too. "Ain't my fault you can't go nowhere without gettin' kicked out."

His phone went off - a call, not a text - and they looked at each other before both lunging for it at the table. Merle had him by a couple of feet, grabbing it and throwing his arm out so Daryl ran into his hand, keeping him firmly back as Merle opened up his phone.

_Leaving now. _

Daryl snatched it back, muttering "jackass" under his breath. Merle was back to taking it like a joke, laughing loudly.

"It is," he laughed. "You actually stupid enough to believe this?"

But Daryl was already leaving, shrugging his jacket on and slamming the door behind him with keys in hand, trying to block the words out.

* * *

Daryl had been right on his suspicion that he wouldn't like where Beth was thinking. It turned out when Beth said a place could get into, she meant a kiddie bar. There must've been some kind of campus nearby, a community college or something, because when they walked in - her having to stop for an ID check, Jesus - the place was uncomfortably crowded with fucking kids. He could instantly tell that he was the oldest one there, older than the douchebag looking bartender, older than the patrons, older than everyone. The music was too loud, air too hot, and it couldn't've been more than twenty people there but it might as well've been two hundred with how smothered he felt just thirty minutes after they'd arrived. And all of them young, young like her, and already he was distinctly aware of not belonging.

They'd settled pretty quickly to a corner table at his insistence, his back against the wall where he could scope things out. He didn't want to be here. He was tired from working, his arms sore, and even though he'd showered he felt dirty all over and worse for being here. And he was put off from Merle, not even by his words but that it had happened at all. That he had to hide this from him, that he knew it wasn't as simple as just being happy for him.

Beth looked good, like she'd obviously put some kind of special effort into the night, which only made him feel shittier. Tight jeans and a loose tank that was just on the edge of too short, leather cuff on her wrist and hair down, and he wasn't oblivious to the couple of guys who had stared.

"Do you want to get a drink?" she asked him, and he could tell from her voice that she'd sensed the mood he was in. "Or somethin'?" She scooted closer to him when he didn't answer, trying to catch his eye. "We could dance?"

He shook his head. He really just wanted to go, if he was being honest. He didn't want to sit here, or think about the stupid fucking kid playing at being a bouncer who'd told Beth that he hoped she and her dad would have a good night. Didn't want to think about Merle stewing at home or anywhere else, didn't want to think about how wrong everything was. "Gonna go out for a smoke," he said, standing up.

She immediately stood up, too. "I'll come with you."

He didn't want her to, really, but he couldn't tell her no, so he nodded and she took his hand and lead him out to a porch which was, thankfully, empty. The music went muted as soon as the door shut behind them, and he dropped her hand and went to the screened in window to try and catch some air.

"Are you okay?" she asked from behind him, giving him space. "You've seemed… off. Since I picked you up."

"Never better," he said, and even though he was trying to calm down there was a growl to his voice.

"I'm sorry," she said, and stepped into his field of vision at his side. "About the bouncer. He's a jerk."

Which was the last thing he wanted to talk about. "Why'd you take me here?" he snapped, turning away from her so he didn't have to see.

"I dunno," she said, obviously surprised. "I thought it would be fun, I guess."

It should be, for her. She should be able to go to a bar without working there, be with people her own age without him on her arm, without looks or whispers or anything. He was making things worse by being here. Just when he thought he'd had a grasp on what this really meant, they were thrown in public, and it was all out of balance again. He scoffed, getting out a cigarette and fumbling with the lighter.

"Why are you so _mad_?" she asked, bewildered.

He didn't even know all the reasons. He wasn't even just mad; he was uncomfortable, and embarrassed, and way too fucking aware of himself, stomach turning. But he didn't have any particular reason for feeling this visceral, or any excuse for taking it out on her. She was still waiting for an answer, but he wasn't sure he had one. "Don't like gettin' stared at."

"Yeah," she conceded. "Yeah. I guess.. I thought since it's more my age that maybe people wouldn't care." She came over to him, touching her fingers over his knuckles on his free hand, but he didn't take it. "I'm sorry. They'll get over it, if they haven't already."

He nodded, wondering if he could even begin to articulate what he felt, the argument with Merle or how much he didn't want to be here.

"But, Daryl," she began, and then she was in front of him where he couldn't ignore her. "It's gonna happen. Sometimes."

He didn't need her to explain. This would happen again, whenever people would be able to connect the dots between them and figure out what this was. How bizarre it looked. He nodded once, snubbing his half smoked cigarette out under his boot and trying to tell whatever it was that had made him freak out in the first place before looking at her. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she said, pulling at a thread at the hem of his shirt. "Do you want to go?"

He turned more into her, and she immediately pressed against him, resting her chin on his chest so she could look up at him. "I'm good. We can stay."

She smiled before looking down to reach into her purse, pulling out a wad of crumpled ones. "I got some money. Tips from the other night. I'm buyin'." She paused. "Or. Well. You're buyin'. But I'm payin'."

He was still off center, but he'd told her he'd stay and the night seemed a little less closed to him now that he was looking at her without the veil of everything else.

And then he thought of her dancing and he figured that, really, there were places he'd like to see this night go. So he nodded, and she smiled, and pulled him back inside.

* * *

Three hours later they were in the parking lot of Daryl's building.

Beth didn't end up dancing. What she did end up doing was drinking.

"I'm not tired," she was saying, stepping back away from him, both her hands in his. She'd been less than cooperative, but he didn't mind. He'd taken care of drunks before, including himself, and for all the unpleasantness that came with that, Beth was different. Happy and quick to smile, stumbling in her boots with a heel and telling him odds and ends of stories that didn't make sense but that he liked listening to all the same. No traces of anger in her, deep seated and hard to dismiss. All she really seemed to want to do was touch him.

"Didn't say you were," he answered, amused by her antics.

"Why'd we leave, then?" she asked, dragging her feet.

"Cause you're drunk, girl." She didn't seem to remember that she was the one who'd wanted to go. He was going to drive her home, but she'd refused, not wanting to crash in drunk with a one year old in the house. Not knowing where else to take her, he'd driven her back here.

She opened her mouth like she was offended. "I'm not."

"Y'are."

She laughed, unable to keep up with the pretense of anger. "I've only ever been drunk with you," she said. "What do you think about that?"

"Think I'm a bad influence," he said, and it was true. This probably hadn't been a good idea. He'd stopped drinking when it'd become clear that she wasn't going to. She was a small girl, and it hadn't taken much at all to get her lit. She wasn't real good at hearing no, and he didn't feel right telling her what to do, anyways.

"How are you a bad influence when you don't even drink with me?" She walked closer, kissing the corner of his mouth. She'd come down since the bar, a little more tired in her eyes, but she still didn't seem too interested in the night ending. "We never danced," she said, and looked at him before placing his hand purposefully on her hip. "Me and Maggie, we used to eat with our elbows on the table," she said. "It drove Mama crazy, and finally she ended up just sending us to cotillion." She put her feet in front of his, holding his other hand up with hers, and even if he'd never done it before he could recognize how she'd posed them both. Dancing. "They were these classes supposed to teach us how to be 'proper young ladies.' Maggie never went more than once, but I wasn't brave enough to skip. So I ended up learning all these dances," she explained, and looked at him with an eyebrow raised while he nodded. "So it's like - you just move your feet like this, see - just -" she said, stepping back with first one foot and then the other, looking down between them, laughing at them both in a way that made him chuckle, too. "And then you keep holdin' my hand like that and I -"

And then she stepping back to spin around, keeping onto his hand in the air. She was so pretty, somehow all the more graceful for her clumsiness as she whirled around on the toe of her boot, laughing loudly when she stumbled into him with her back against his chest. Her voice echoed off the walls, and Daryl caught a glimpse of someone peeking out the curtains to get a look at what was causing the noise.

"Like that," she said, breathless and giggling. "And that's how you dance."

He was grinning now, too, all the bullshit from the beginning of the night gone as he pulled her in closer. "That it, huh?"

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "I wanna see your place," she said, changing tracks, stepping off and walking towards the direction of the stairs. He followed her, but she stopped when she was at the foot. "My feet hurt," she said, eyeing the stairs with her hand on the rail.

He groaned, quickly calculating where this was going, the odds of her falling or just taking too long. "Hop on, then," he said, giving her his back.

She stared, smile growing wider with excitement. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, it's a serious piggyback. Get on."

She came up behind him eagerly as he crouched lower, putting her arms around his neck and pulling herself up with her legs hitched around his hips. He could hear her giggling, putting a kiss behind his cheek. "Let's go."

He carried her up to his room, nearly dropping his keys as he fumbled them out of his pocket, opening the door so hard it slammed against the wall with the handle leaving a dent where it hit. The whole place was dark, absent of sound.

"Is your brother here?" she whispered, having the sense to whisper now.

"Nah," he grunted, hitching her up higher as she reached to push the door shut behind them. "Ain't exactly a sound sleeper."

"Oh," she whispered, clinging to him tighter, and suddenly it occurred to him for the first time that she hadn't been here before. A glimpse from the outside, but that was it, and now she was _here._ "Where's your room? I can't find the light switch."

He didn't answer, deciding just to carry her there, too, cursing when he accidentally kicked the table. He only set her down when he knew she could easily find the bed.

She didn't so much as find it as fall onto it, collapsing onto the mattress, but not before she'd grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to take him down with her. She was laughing as they both fell to the bed, her hands still gripped tight onto the fabric, hitching her leg back over his hip.

She fell mostly quiet except for her breathing after a couple of seconds, everything dark while his eyes adjusted. He'd done this enough with Merle to know the steps, and he didn't say anything while he brushed his hand down the back of her leg until he had a grip on the heel of her boot so he could pull it off of her.

"Thirsty?" he asked her, pulling her more on top of him so he could feel down her other leg.

"No," she answered, focus gone elsewhere. "You were mad tonight," she said while he got her other shoe, too.

He glanced at where he could just barely see her eyes. "I'm fine."

"I know. But you were also mad." She adjusted, nestling in closer to him to press her mouth against his jaw. "I want you to be good."

"I am," he said, not knowing what else to say. "I'm good."

"Good." She rolled onto her back, and he heard her zipper going down followed by her wriggling out of her pants.

He went onto his back, too, clearing his throat and watching the outline of her figure as she unhooked her necklace from around her neck. "I'll sleep on the couch," he said, and sat up before she'd grabbed onto his shoulder.

"I want you to stay," she whispered, and then she was sitting next to him, holding his arm with both her hands. "Please."

He thought it over for all of a second before nodding, letting her guide him back down, his feet still on the floor. He turned, but she was already there, his lips touching on her nose. "Go to sleep, Beth."

But she seemed to have other things in mind, wrapping her leg up across his hips. "I don't wanna go to sleep," she said, sounding both petulant and husky at the same time. She crawled on top of him, hands damp as they landed on his cheeks. When she spoke it was in his ear. "I wanna touch you again."

He let out a groan that ended in a sharp laugh. "Ain't a good idea."

She'd found her way under his shirt, tracing along his sides up to his chest, dragging his shirt up so he could feel her bare thighs against his ribs. "I want to," she said, and she was just fucking _purring_ in his ear, wicked little hands pulling at him. "You were so good."

He threw his head back, wincing and laughing more hollowly before putting his hands on her waist and picking her up and off of him. "Can't."

She didn't get back up on him, but got to her side. He could see better, now, could see her silvery hair and her long legs. She reached back for one of his pillows, pulling it underneath her head so she could look at him, breathing a little harder than normal. "'Cause I was drinkin'?"

He only nodded, trying to ignore the way his blood was already rushing. She inched over to kiss his cheek. "You are so good, Daryl," she said, and lifted her head up to position the pillow so he could lay on it, too. He didn't have any covers, and the sheets weren't on the bed, and this didn't seem like a place she should even be. His bed. His fucking bed where his brother had slept more than he had, with sheets he couldn't even remember when he'd washed, and there was probably a smell in here but he looked over and she was already asleep.

Easy.

He disentangled himself from her a little, kicking off his own shoes, sitting up to look around for where the sheets had been kicked off to. He found them at the other side on the floor, bringing them up to toss them over them as best he could so she wouldn't wake up cold. She didn't stir, feet hanging off the edge. He tried to get his hand under her to move her up so she was at least actually on the bed, but she only fell into him, her left arm lazying its way down his torso. Alright. So this was the best he could make it. The cuff she was always wearing had come untied at some point during the night, and he went ahead and took it off for her, putting it somewhere near where he'd hoped she'd put her necklace. Finally. Both of them on the mattress, her on a pillow, bed not made but close enough, and if he tried he might actually get to sleep, too. He took her hand to bring it more up his chest, liking the way she felt wrapped around him.

He saw it as soon as he'd pulled her hand into the light from the window: a long, pinkish scar on her wrist, following the veins, raised white on her skin. Healed, but not old. It took him a second to even realize he was seeing something, that the bracelet wasn't just there like her necklace was. But he knew scars, and he knew this one, as unfamiliar and out of place as it looked on her skin.

Not an accident. She'd meant to do damage. She'd meant to hurt.

He couldn't even let her go, body frozen while his head melted. And suddenly so many things made sense, that conversation he'd heard with her sister, the mysterious event that had helped to push her out of that house.

He didn't know what to do at all.

**sorry for the semi cliffhanger but I do hope to have next chapter up relatively soon! song, if it matters, was Heartbeats by Jose Gonzales.**


	23. Chapter 23

**confession time: the reveal of the scars is almost always my least favorite part of stories. I just feel it's already been done so many times and been done so well on top of that, but it's just such an important part of both of their characters that I can't skip it. That being said, I did the best and most realistic job I could while keeping in mind the frame of this story.**

**also: I changed my penname. Just so there's no confusion. **

When the sun came up the next morning, Daryl was in the same position: sitting on the edge of the bed at her feet, waiting for her to wake up. Dreading her waking up. Merle hadn't come home - could be trouble there, could be fine, he didn't have the spare capacity to think about it - so at least they were alone. Alone in his own head, miserable and restless and uneasy.

He couldn't wake her. Couldn't leave her. So he was stuck, like he had been for hours, not sleeping or even moving but just sitting here, thinking about what he'd seen. What it meant that she'd tried to erase herself, that she might not have been alive for him to meet her. And here he'd been, and her sister had fucking _told _him that she needed to be home, and even if he believed it was Beth's call he'd be fooling himself if he said he didn't play some part.

It was so jarring. He couldn't picture it, his own head fighting the image of it. Her bleeding. Violent. And it didn't make sense, didn't make any sense at all that she could be anything but what she was. Alive. Alive and smiling and laying her touch on him. Two days ago he'd been sitting at the bar just waiting for her to look at him.

It was more than he could handle. How could he fix this, fix what he'd gotten some idea could never be broken, what he could only possibly make worse? How much damage had he already done? He could physically feel the weight of this settling on him, taking over skin and muscle inch by inch until he dropped his head in his hands, rubbing his hair back from where it was continuously falling in his eyes. He kept his eyes off of where she still slept, almost wishing he hadn't seen anything at all. He felt like he'd intruded, like he'd knowingly walked in on her naked and now she had nothing to hide. Except this was worse, that line of white crossing over her skin, and even if he knew scars and had his share he didn't have anything like _that_, and he couldn't help but wonder what else he hadn't been seeing.

And still he couldn't say even do so much as wake her up. He wasn't built for this. He hadn't planned for any of this. All of the guilt, any of it that he had managed to justify overnight, guilt that he wasn't even sure should be his, came crashing back onto his shoulders. She wasn't fixing him. But he was going to break her, sure as sin; if something was going to bring this girl back down into whatever depths she'd been in it was going to be him.

She stirred, and he had time to look over at her before she opened her eyes a sliver, smiling sleepily when she saw him. "Hey."

He nodded at her by way of response, trying to prepare himself for whatever was about to come. She propped herself up on her elbows, yawning, and he didn't even have the luxury of enjoying watching her situate herself in his bed. She looked around at the empty walls as if there was something to see, the curtainless windows with the blinds drawn, the sheets she'd mostly kicked off. And then she was back down, stretching out next to him, sighing when she let her muscles go languid, smooth and graceful as she turned towards him. There was a whole different way this morning could've gone, a whole different world of words he could've pulled from her.

She came up behind him, blanketing herself over his shoulders and back, chin resting near his neck while her hands locked together in front of his chest. "Mornin'."

He didn't move, completely on edge, even his skin agitated. "Hm."

"You don't look like you slept," she said, sliding around so she was at his side. He only shrugged, and she leaned away to look at him, sitting back on her heels. She knew something was wrong. He could feel her examining him, eyes flitting all over his face, trying to figure out what had changed overnight. "Daryl -"

"It was already comin' off," he said, voice flat, still not looking at her. Might as well just get it out there. She'd realize it eventually even if he didn't tell her.

"What? Daryl - " She didn't know what he was talking about until, suddenly, she did. She looked at her naked wrist before stowing it quickly in her lap, swallowing hard. "Oh." That sat there between them for a minute, even the silence anxious, twisting itself into his stomach as the realization came over them both. "So you-"

"Yeah," he said, and still he didn't face her.

She took a breath, but already it was shaky. "This isn't really-" she said, then laughed humorlessly once, crossing her arms over her chest. "I wish you'd woken me up."

She felt so small next to him. "Sorry." For so much. He let that be it for a second, but then the next question was slipping out before he had time to make room for it. "When?" he asked, angling his chin towards her crossed arms. There was just no fucking way this had passed his notice, no fucking way he was that blind - but, then, how was he supposed to know, or even guess? Yeah, there had been something, some event he'd trusted her to tell him about in time, but not in a million fucking years would he ever have been able to pin this down.

"Months ago," she said, wiping underneath her eyes where black smudges of her makeup had tracked down. She dropped her arms, her hands clasped protectively. He looked more towards her, but she turned away, her jaw setting. But he could see the way her chest moving. She was nervous. She was starting to cry, he could see, her fingers reforming a fist over and over again in his sheets.

"I don't really -" she said, and it was obvious that she was struggling but he didn't have any words to give her. "That there's not really a reason makes it worse," she said, picking at the skin around her fingernails. "I didn't have a broken home, my parents didn't fight. I had a boyfriend, I had friends."

She didn't have to tell him. He thought he could hear between the lines. _Not like you_. Like she was apologizing that she didn't have the the same story, wanting him to understand anyways.

"It started slow, I guess," she continued quietly when he didn't say anything, and nearly flinched at her own voice, a small jolt that shook her petite frame. "I'd go through some spells where I didn't really feel - I didn't feel like I was there. Like there were all these things, and I was doin' 'em, but they weren't really mine. Like they were just things I was supposed to do, and things I used to like that I just didn't really anymore. Even my name. It wasn't really _mine_," she said, the words coming slow like she was choosing them carefully. "Like we were two different things. It's kinda hard to explain I guess. But it was like a dream, sorta. Like I was seein' all these things from the outside?"

And she reached for his hand where he'd had it on his lap, bringing it back to hers so she could run her fingers over his.

"So I had this boyfriend that I was just supposed to have, and I was goin' to school like I was supposed to do, and just kept doin' all these things," she said, trailing off and taking a deep, rattling breath. "And it got easy to play happy, but the whole time it felt more and more like none if it was real. Like it was all pointless anyways even tryin' because I'm just this girl and none of this stuff even _mattered_, and then it stopped being a 'from time to time' thing, and I felt like that pretty much all the time, and I couldn't even tell anyone because I didn't really have any reason for it and then that started to change into feelin' like I couldn't do _anythin'_. I stopped feelin' like much of anythin' at all. I felt like I was just waiting to die," she said, the words coming faster and faster until she stopped to take a breath again.

He knew that feeling. He knew what that was, to feel separated from yourself until you weren't sure you were there anymore. It was something he had learned earlier on, that you could live in your body without really _living_ in it. It was dull. Empty. He could be gone, for days, sometimes, hunting or fucking off with Merle or just existing, and when he came back to being aware he always found himself searching to be submerged again. Because sometimes drowning was easier than trying to keep your head above water, than having wave after wave crash over you with no end in sight. But he'd never wanted to die. To just stop existing. And that she had, that what she was telling him had made things that bad, just made him ache all over. It almost made him angry.

"So one day I just…" she went on, and kind of shrugged to fill in the blank. "I pretty much knew right after I did it that it wasn't what I wanted. Maggie came home early. Heard me cryin'. Came and found me. Nobody was home, so she called 911. Rode with me to the hospital. I was admitted for psych care, and they figured out I wasn't gonna try again. Went to counseling for a while." She'd been distracting herself with his hand, tracing over the lines of his palm, but now she stopped to squeeze his fingers between hers. "Daryl, I'm not like that anymore," she said earnestly, bringing herself in closer. "I'm not. I made a choice, and it was hard, but I _did_," she said, and she wasn't crying anymore, eyes light with nothing but life. "I'm sorry I ain't perfect, or what you thought, but -"

"Don't," he said to cut her off. "Don't say it." He couldn't even stand to hear it, hear her apologize to him, or hear her think anything less of herself than what she'd been to him. His thoughts were still racing, but more smoothly now, less circular. He could think past this, set on whatever direction she put them in.

She smiled a little like she could hear what he was thinking, then continued more softly. "But nothing's different. I'm still here, I still want to be here."

He nodded, but there was something else. Something he'd wanted to do since he'd first seen it, but couldn't without her permission. "Show me." His own lungs clenched as if someone had grabbed them in an iron fist, working double time to at least appear calm. He hadn't phrased it like a question, but it was one. She could turn him down and he wouldn't ask again. He wasn't sure it was the right thing to do, but he wanted to see her, to see what had happened, to understand exactly where she was so that the resuscitation could begin.

Seconds passed by that felt like days, and he wasn't sure what was about to happen, if he had fucked up, but then she turned her head away from him at the same time she offered up her hand. Her slim fingers were trembling, the nail polish on them chipped, her skin dry and warm against his hand. He turned her over so that her palm was facing upward, and there it was. Long, a couple of inches maybe. It'd been deep. Stitches, definitely. She would've lost blood, and a lot of it. If her sister hadn't been there - no. She had been, is what she was trying to tell him. This had happened, but she was here.

He'd been sitting here all night fighting the picture of this, of her bloody and pale and making that choice, but now looking at her he couldn't see it. Not like that. Now, he could see a little more. The places she'd taken him, how decisive and sure and powerful she was, how comfortable she seemed to feel dragging him wherever she wanted…

Not despite of this. _Because_ of it.

He touched his thumb over the length of the scar, struggling to keep track of this new wave of thoughts as they tripped all over each other, trying to pick out which ones he should say. He'd spent all night blaming himself for not seeing sooner. But he was realizing, slowly, how this wasn't fucking about him at all. This was on her. Her cut, her choice, her scar. And so suddenly, like he should've predicted she'd be able to do, he could feel the weight of it lifting off of him. It was so different, now, the frame of it completely changed. A whole new picture with a whole new story, and he'd known she could pretty much do anything to him she wanted but now it seemed like she could do anything at all.

He nodded again, longer this time, processing everything as it came. "Alright."

"Alright?" she asked, looking over his face again as her hand went to the back of his neck, thumb rubbing at the nape.

He caught her eye, not scared of her or what he was doing anymore. "I trust you."

She leaned in to kiss his cheekbone, the hand that he'd been examining turning over to take his fingers. "You don't have to take care of me, you know," she said, pulling both their hands into her lap. "But I like bein' with you. So much." She kissed him again, further down his cheek this time, hand moving more firmly to the back of his head, and he could feel something building even as her words kept coming. "They didn't mean to, but I could feel 'em all watchin' me. They didn't trust me alone anymore. Like I was just gonna break if they said somethin' wrong." She'd moved closer, practically in his lap now, and she'd dropped his hand so that it was free to hold onto her waist. The timing was all wrong, but so was everything, and her fingers on his jaw turned him into her so that her mouth was almost on his. "I don't want you to look at me like that. I don't want - can't be just another dead girl."

He shook his head once, caught in the tense anticipation of the almost she was giving him. "You ain't." And there were things he could say, about how he wanted her to be good, too, about the ways she moved and the ways she smiled, how much she'd fucked him up and the way his days had changed. All things he wouldn't even be able to form into sentences, but it didn't matter because she didn't need him to tell her any of it. She just already knew.

And then she was kissing him, gentle at first, salt still on her lips. It didn't start like anything. Tasting her all over again, a whole new appreciation that she was here for this, that he almost didn't have it at all. Her hands on his chest, his shoulders, getting tangled in his hair, and she was so alive. She pulled away for a second, and she was smiling, and fucking hell, so was he.

"We don't gotta," he said, and she'd already drawn all the breath out of him, leaving his whole body deprived. "Beth, you just -"

She grabbed his shoulder, tips of her fingers digging in. He thought she was going to straddle him again, and he shifted his arms to make room for her. But instead she pulled him with her as she laid back to the mattress, her hand making its way further down his back to urge him on top of her. This shouldn't have been different, not really, but it was, feeling how small and warm and pliant she felt beneath him, her hands gripping tight to his neck and the back of his shoulders. So much had changed, but then again nothing had at all; definitely not this, the way they fell together, one of his legs falling easily between hers.

He paused again, not to ask this time but just to look at her on her back for him, the way her hair haloed out in the soft light of morning, her shirt all wrinkled up her stomach, her feet finding the mattress to wriggle up toward him. Her bare legs looked so pale against his sheets, bent and spread so her knees could squeeze at his leg. Maybe he'd get her all the way around him, let her thighs pull him into where she waited warm and open.

She groaned before ducking up to deliver a punishing little nip to his jaw. "Daryl, c'mon, I'm fine. I wouldn't -" She broke off when he returned with his hand on one of her tits, squeezing her around her bra. She worked to meet him, mouth latching onto his neck as her hand in his hair held him to her. "I wouldn't say I did if I didn't, so just _touch me_."

He smiled, because she genuinely sounded annoyed and this was still just so easy, taking her hand behind his neck and pulling it away to pin it to the mattress near her head. Her scar seemed to catch the light, but already he was growing accustomed to it there, just looking at it reminding him just how much she wanted to be here. She smiled, not fighting him, letting her spine fall flat to the bed. "Daryl-"

"Where?" he asked. Not because he didn't know, but because he did. Because he wanted her so much, wanted to be like her and to make her feel like he knew she could.

"You know where," she huffed a little, and she was so impatient that he could feel it in muscles as her hand fidgeted into a loose fist, the other finding his arm.

"Yeah, I do," he said. She wasn't understanding what he was seeing, how many loose threads he could start to pull to make her unravel. So many things he hadn't tried, and all the time in the world to try them. She wasn't going anywhere. "Don't mean I don't wanna hear it."

That hand he'd put on the mattress went up to cup his cheek, and just because it was there he turned his head to press a kiss against her scar. She said his name, but he was already back to her mouth, her lips swelling red. She touched from his cheek to his shoulder, searching down his arm until she found his hand. She picked it up, guiding him between them until she'd slipped his hand under her shirt and bra flat on her sternum.

"Here," she said, eyes closing as she adjusted herself underneath him, her foot rubbing along his calf. "Touch me here."

She asked him to and he did, biting at her lip and then her ear while he grabbed at her tits, small enough that he could fit his hand over them, little nipples pushing into his palm. He gave her his thigh, too, pressing it hard between her legs. She whimpered, her hips pivoting into the friction he was offering, grinding hard. Her head whipped back to the mattress, the tendons in her neck straining as a cry broke out of her. He'd had his other hand at her hip, but she grabbed for that now, too, pulling it over her thigh until he was on her.

He licked his way down her chest with open mouthed kisses, pulling the collar of her shirt down so her breast was in his face, opening his jaw wide to take as much of her as he could. She didn't seem like she wanted to be teased anymore, her hips still grinding their way up and down his thigh, so he touched her there, too, slipping past the band of her underwear to feel her. Not inside her, not this time, because she was almost steadily whining now with how much she wanted to come and he wanted so badly to give that to her. Remind her of how good she could feel.

She was already soaked, sticky and slippery and making it almost hard to get where she wanted him. He could tell when he found her, though, her whole body lurching when his middle finger snagged on her clit. Tight movements, now, rubbing over her, and she was sensitive enough that her hips nearly wrenched away from him down into the mattress even as her hand pulled him harder into her. He thought it would be seconds before she disintegrated, and he watched her face from his perch at her tits, eyes all screwed up as a flush burned red over her cheeks.

He could hear his fingers working between her legs, and now her hips were riding those, too, and it was all he could do to try and sit still as she got herself off on his hand. Her whole torso was undulating continuously with her efforts, and she looked so fucking pretty like this, urgent and impatient. He inched his way back up so that maybe he could try and tell her, and now his hips were pushing into her, too, making his breathing as loud as hers.

"C'mon, Beth," he whispered around her jaw, and she wailed as her hips bucked and her back arched to press her chest into his hand. He looked down between them to watch, and he could see the planes of muscle on her stomach flexing as the track of her hips went a little frantic, could feel how wet she'd gotten herself, slick and shining and making its way to her thighs, pressing warm and drenched over and over again onto his fingers. "You can have it."

She pressed her face into his shoulder so he could feel her sucking in air, her mouth opening wide enough for the tips of her teeth to press into him. All of her on edge, vital and beating and shaking as she worked herself on him. She was wet everywhere, sweating in the sun that slipped golden and hot through the blinds, and he could feel how present she was. How close. Lingering on the edge, too strong to let go.

So he gave her a bite of his own, gentle on the pliant skin of her neck beneath her jaw, and when she whimpered he tried again, moving up to her ear. "I want you to come, Beth." She shivered, clutching him tighter, and he grabbed at her hair at the top of her head to pull her head to the side so he could get at her throat, touching his teeth there, too.

She jerked, all of her arching, and when she came it was quiet except for the breaths that kept catching in her chest, all spilling out in a moan when she finally released. He groaned, too, feeling her hands grab loosely at his back and his arm, her cunt flooding hot and slick on his hand as he rubbed her through it until she was pulling away.

When she collapsed, so did he, and he hadn't come or even been touched and she could almost definitely feel him pressing hard against her thigh but he didn't care. There was sun on his back and in her hair and she was here, breathing still irregular as her hand soothed over his chest. He pulled his hand out from between her legs, almost dripping with how much she'd given him, and she shook when he drew some of that wetness in a line over her nipple.

He was so tired, he realized. Maybe they could sleep now, together, wrapped around him like she'd been last night.

He thought he was probably crushing her, so he rolled over only to feel her follow him, throwing her leg over his hips and her arm on his chest. They were both hot, and hotter where she laid on him, but it was okay. She was okay. And so was he.

**I really debated on whether or not I was going to include smut in here, but I think smut can be healing and I really hope I wasn't disrespectful or anything. Anyways. Next chapter will probably be fluffy because this shit is draining. **


	24. Chapter 24

**Y'all are some lucky ducks because I said this would be fluffy and I do believe I've delivered with some more smut to boot. Next chapter probably won't be so nice but what can I say? I just want them to bang from now until forever. Also I did finally get another chapter of I See Fire up just a little while ago today so there's that if you're into it. But thank you to all of you who were so nice last chapter. I feel like it can't be overstated how lovely it is to hear from you all. **

**Guest Mariana - make a profile so I can message you back! Thank you :) I do think they've both retained their humanity in ways that are unique, that the others just haven't. And I like AUs for the reasons you do, because I think it was a special set of circumstances that threw them together and I love to see those special circumstances happen again and again and again. Fate is a wonderful thing. **

They slept.

Or, at least, he did, wrapped in nothing but the warmth of her that was there every time he came close enough to awareness to feel for her. That seemed important, that she be there within arm's reach, existing and near. Shifting sometimes, her pulling at his side so he could turn and feel her solid against him, chest to chest with her head under his chin and his arm folding over her, and then there would be more sleep. Hot and kind of sweaty and very tangled, and even though personal space had always been something he'd had a pretty strong opinion about there weren't any lines anymore. Melding and blending and warm, and he never really wanted to get up.

Hours later or maybe minutes, back on his back with the sun still coming in strong, and she wasn't touching him anymore. He opened his eyes just enough to see she was still there, sitting up straight and looking towards the door, but she was still here so who even cared about the door or really anything? Finding her hand and tugging her towards him, and she rolled back with one hand fisting his shirt and the other shaking his shoulder.

"Daryl," she whispered, and then repeated it a little louder, accompanied by more insistent tugging. "Wake up."

He sighed, not opening his eyes, turning his face back from where the sun came in too bright. "Somethin' wrong?"

"No," she said, voice still quiet, pulling gently at his consciousness. "Just-"

"Then go the fuck back to sleep, girl."

She smoothed along his chest, hooking her finger in the V of his shirt. "I think your brother was here."

That would do it.

He felt himself getting yanked none too gently to cognizance, finally opening his eyes and looking down to see her face at his chest and her legs still pretzeled with this, hair a frizzed out mane at the top of her head. He could appreciate this. He could get used to it. "Merle?"

She nodded, eyes bright and awake. "Not for long. He pretty much turned around and left as soon as he came in."

"He came in here?" he asked, and she nodded. "So he saw you."

Another nod. "I mean. Kinda hard to miss, Daryl."

"What he say?" How had he slept through this? More importantly, why had he been allowed to? Like a storm rolling through but only catching the eye of it.

"Nothin'. He didn't say anythin'." She frowned apologetically, tapping her fingers along his sternum. "I tried to wake you up when I heard the door but then he was in here. Just looked for a second and then turned back around and left." She stretched out a bit, scooting her head up closer. "He didn't seem mad or anythin', if that helps."

Not really, but there was nothing he wanted to do less right now than deal with his brother. "Handle it later when you ain't here." No getting caught in the crosshairs.

"I mean, is it bad? That he saw me?" she asked, and propped herself up a little with a painful elbow in his stomach that emptied his lungs in one breath that she ignored. "He knows about me?"

Good. This was exactly what he'd hoped to start talking about thirty damn seconds after waking up. "He knows… some," he said, and when that didn't feel like enough he just gestured vaguely at nothing.

Her arm wrapped around him so she could hide her face more in his chest, but he could still see her eyes, flitting and thinking. "Alright."

"What?" he asked her, and made a mostly useless attempt to smooth her hair back down, clumsy hands that just pulled at her scalp so that she smiled and ducked away before sighing into something more serious.

"I get why," she said, and kissed him over his shirt, eyes coming out of focus as she looked to the window. "I just mean… I dunno. Just wish it was different."

"S'alright." It wasn't, and she wasn't wrong, but he didn't need to explain to her what it looked like. What it could even look like to him, if he went back to that place watching from the outside. "Ain't why I haven't said much to him."

He'd caught her curiosity, blue in her eyes nearly edging out the black of her pupils as she focused on him. "Why?"

"Just… Ruins things," he said. "Don't even mean to but he does. Always has."

"How?"

"Can't leave things be." She nodded, and then opened her mouth to talk some more, but he shook his head. That was enough, now. He breathed, chest a little heavier with her on top of it, and tried to brush through her hair only to be immediately met with tangles. "What you want me to tell him, then?"

"Hm?" she asked, her cheek back against him so he could just see the top of her head, fingers touching down his buttons and then following the lines of the plaid his shirt was made of.

"What you want me to say to him about you?" he asked, pulling her hair so it fell in a golden wave down his side. He traced along her shoulder blades jutting out as a shiver rippled gently through her, folding easily into him. He saw her cheek lift in a smile, her leg shifting higher so that her thigh brushed against his crotch.

"Tell him… that you love dancin' with me," she said, coy as her fingers massaged him in little circles.

"That right?" he asked her, wrapping first one arm around her and then the other, squeezing her tight, and he felt so at ease. Also not at ease at all, really, her legs sliding to bring her hips centered over his, the whole scope of her back and her ass visible beyond her head. So that was happening and he was almost sure it was definitely going to turn into something else, but her hair smelled nice and he was comfortable. He'd been so fucked up just hours ago, but as much as that'd been the worst, she eased them both so smoothly into this and he was calm. She pulled herself up just an inch or two more to nuzzle her cheek against his, her arm looping around the back of his shoulder so she could hold tight. "What else?"

"That you like bein' with me. That you make me happy. That you're happy." Her legs fell wayside to line the outside of his, her hand pushing through the nonexistent space between them to hold onto the opposite cheek, fingers curling under his jaw.

"Yeah," he breathed, because she was so pretty and so overflowing with things he couldn't even get a grasp on, enveloping them both. He pulled her shirt up higher so he could get his hands on her skin, flexing his fingers and his arms and then everything else when she made a little sway of her hips down into his. He turned to kiss her jaw, then her ear, hair falling into a curtain at the side of their heads. "He wouldn't believe it if I told him, girl."

"Believe what?" she asked, and she was still curious even as her voice had gone a little hoarse. She jumped a little when she felt his teeth on her neck, edging them both along with his hips pressing back up to her.

"How soft you are," he said, and then a little lower in her so she'd be sure to hear, "How wet you get."

He felt her blush, cheek flaming hot where it touched his. "Daryl…"

"That alright?" Serious question, because he was sitting out on some pretty serious limbs. He'd told how he wanted her to come when she'd worked herself so frantically and sweet on him this morning, but he didn't have his hand on her now. Nothing but his words in her ear and her blush on his cheek. "Beth?"

"It's good," she whispered. "Just never… Haven't heard that before. Never really…" she said, trailing off and clutching loosely to his collar.

"Me neither," he said. "Nothin' like this." He grabbed hold of her hip tightly, squeezing her thigh under the curve of her ass and nearly losing it a little when she pressed her hips into his. "Want me to stop?"

He heard her breathe in and then fail to release it, hand digging where it hooked around his shoulder. "No."

"Good," he said, most of his voice gone, and then her knees were shifting a little higher to give herself more leverage as she pushed and pulled her hips against him. "Cause you do. Can't even stand it, girl."

Quiet, still, but not shy. Not once had he ever seen her be less than completely at ease with herself, and that was as true now as it ever was. But it was new for her like it was new for him, and they could both revel in that for as long as they wanted, and he could do this, tell her some of the things he couldn't last night. She was rocking a little more purposefully against him, and yes this was new but she knew what she wanted, and he felt that as she stretched a rhythm out that had him going hard against her. Not even separating, just back and forth, up and down in a grind while he could do nothing but hold onto her.

She'd taken her bra off at some point while he slept, so now her back was smooth and open to his hands as he felt along her, feeling the different parts of her move as her muscles tensed and released, hand boring harder into his shoulder. He was affected but so was she, her breathing coming in loud and jerky, and he had a pretty good idea that if he reached down between her thighs he'd find her as wet as he was hard. Giving pleasure to them both, overwhelming and undeniable.

"If I ask to touch you again will you say no?"

Right where he had to believe she'd wanted him, everything in him a mess. He shook his head no, and then yes, and because he couldn't quite remember what the question was. She seemed to understand anyways, leaning back and pulling a few inches away so she could get her hands into his waistband, first trying to just tug them toward his feet and then giving up and going for his belt. He just watched her, neck exerting painfully from the effort of holding his head up, but she figured it out and then everything was loose enough and the jeans were finally off and it was just his boxers, now, and Jesus fucking God he was straining for her, twitching as she pulled those down more slowly, both of them watching as he brushed up against her stomach.

She fell back to lying mostly on top of him, leaving only enough room for her hand as the other braced itself near his shoulder, and he nearly fucking wanted to cry when she touched him, first her fingers but then her whole fucking hand wrapping around him. That was enough, everything in him surging to his pelvis and making him bow up to her touch while his head fell back far enough that it almost hung off the edge of the bed.

And she was shushing him, he realized, not even telling him to be quiet but trying to pacify him, murmuring a soft "shhh" against ear, offering soothing little kisses along his chest and then his neck, trying to relieve him as her fist passed up to the head, thumb running gently over the tip in an easy little exploration. Testing. Learning. He was learning, too, learning what the bare skin of her stomach felt like against his cock as she shaped herself over him.

She made like she was going to get off of him, but he shook his head, grabbing onto her thigh. "Stay. Please." He'd needed more words but those would do.

She paused, but then acquiesced, falling back into him, her hips a little off to the side so she could still pull at his cock, lazy, slow and flowing. But then his hands were on either of her thighs, pulling her where she'd been before, her chest on his and her cunt just a layer of fabric away. "Keep goin'," he whispered, a palm meandering over to her ass and pinching her there, too.

It took her a second to acclimate, her hand still between them going flat on his pelvis, but then she nodded, tilting her head enough to look at him. She adjusted, knees coming back up where they'd been before, her forearms holding herself up a little so she could grind on him like before. Slow, and thank God, because he'd touched her plenty but not like this, and if her cunt felt hot to his hands she was basically scalding against his cock, cotton of her underwear dragging against him as his feet kicked out and one leg jerked only to be held in by his jeans still halfway down his thighs. She was still experimenting, testing along the boundaries between them, arching her back a little higher so she could grind her way up to the tip and then back down, her voice peaking and catching as she felt something she liked.

And he was smiling. Because he'd been right. She was wet enough that he could feel her pressing damp against his skin.

But his hands were squeezing and his hips were pitching and she followed that all on her own, rubbing him raw and sensitive and he wrapped his arms back around her waist so he could bring her in and press his face into her hair.

He hadn't come this morning and this wasn't going to last, thigh so soft whenever a missed angle had him knocking up against her. She'd gotten eager, almost too hard, both of them hectic and wired, and when it was too much he pressed her mouth into her neck and whimpered like something broken, tension whipping all of his skin and muscles and blood to a standstill. She sensed it, came down harder, said his name like she didn't know what to do. But she'd done enough, so completely over him and around him that he could just bury himself in her as his hips snapped toward hers and he came in what felt like waves, each rocking him harder than the last, cock twitching where she'd coated herself onto him, grabbing her tight enough that it might've hurt.

He fell back when it was done, when he felt his bones disappear like before, her body still wrapped around his keeping him present. She'd started giving him those soft touches of her lips again, all over his neck and cheek and then his mouth where she kissed him deeply, taking care to lift her hips away from him when another half grind made him nearly spasm. Tasting his tongue, bitter remnants of alcohol still making themselves known, but she was sweet and she was good and he wound his hand into her hair to keep her there.

So that went on for a while. She got up to use his bathroom and that gave him some kind of opportunity to fix himself back to being some semblance of a person, to check the time and see where, realistically, they should be. Sun was finally gone, light coming in from the street lamp, and there were other sounds coming in that accompanied living in a place like this. Yelling, music with the bass too loud both in some other room and in the cars that would roll by, a siren somewhere in the distance that faded away. When she came back he was at least sitting up, looking out the window, and she fell in behind him like she had that morning with her lips on his shoulder.

"It got late," she said, genuinely surprised.

He nodded. "Should you be gettin' back?"

She shook her head. "No. Not unless you want me to."

He should've been. Should've been ready for her to leave not even because he wanted her to go, but because he should be drained by now. Even in the past weeks of knowing her, he would have to come back here, recollect himself and his energy in dark and quiet that let him sit mindless. But something was different, changed over the course of a night, and they might be different again tomorrow but for now he wanted her to stay.

So he shook his head and she came to sit beside him so she could look out the window, too. If she minded the noise she didn't mention it. "Kinda hungry," she said.

"I feedin' you now?" he asked, looking at her.

"Could just eat what you have here," she offered. "Don't have to go anywhere."

"Don't have anythin' here. Unless you want beer."

She wrinkled her nose. "You must have somethin'."

"Go on and check, then," he said. "I'll wait."

She didn't move, staring like she didn't get the joke. "So what do you eat?"

"Whatever," he said, giving up on even the thought of moving and lying back to the mattress. "Food."

That earned him another nose wrinkle, and he reached over to squeeze her leg. She turned around, cocking her head. "So what do you _do_ all day? When you're not with me? You're not cookin'."

He was almost positive that the correct answer was not "wait to see you," and really he wasn't that pathetic. He'd existed this long without her. He had things that were his that he liked. "Work some. Fuck around with Merle if he's up for it. Used to hunt."

"Hunt," she repeated, catching onto that and ignoring the rest. "Like people hired you? Hunt what?"

"Just. Different things. Nobody hired me." He would've been useless at it if he'd been paid. He might've hunted for food when he was younger, but now if he managed to get out at all it wasn't to kill something but was mostly just to prove to himself that he could. That he was even good.

"I haven't seen any huntin' stuff," she said. "We used to have real bad coyotes and Daddy would hire people but they'd come with all kinds of things."

"Got a crossbow under my bed right now," he said, and she raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"No, you don't," she countered, but then she was twisting, getting on her stomach and shimmying until her shoulders were off the bed and her ass was in the air, giving him a view as she looked for herself. "You do." He sat up and grabbed her arm to help her back upright, not letting go so that when he went down so did she. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Just… didn't." He wasn't going to be a whole person today. Might not even fucking leave this room or stand for more than thirty seconds on his feet, and he was actually tired enough that he thought he might be able to sleep some more. Probably not let her stay the night again, because she had a place and he had Merle, but there was time.

"Do you still go?"

"Not for a while," he answered.

"You went to a bar with me," she said. "I could go huntin' with you. Or somethin'. If you want."

"Maybe," he said, and yeah, he could probably do that, could probably show her some things and some places like she'd shown him. But for now there was this bed, and maybe some food because, yes, he was hungry too, and there was her and that was enough to keep him occupied for a while.

The rest could wait.

**Did we progress in plot at all? Basically no. Do I care? also no. **


	25. Chapter 25

**Sorry this is late. I had a weird kind of issue where I had an idea of a chapter and I actually had it pretty heavily outlined but I really needed a chapter to come before it. And I really had no idea how to get to where I wanted to go, so I wrote a whole chapter, but then scrapped most of it because I just couldn't get it right and sometimes that is just how things work out. A little shorter, I think, but I am really just trying to get them somewhere specific idk why they make it so difficult. **

**also, this may sound odd, but a few people have been approaching me about doing a new Daryl/OC story? Because Strip Target Practice was sorta my rise to fame (lol) around here, before fandom (and myself) was overflooded with Bethyl. So I'm going to be doing a one/two/three shot sort of thing, not publishing it publicly (at least not yet) but I'm already sending it out privately to some people through the site so if you want to get in on that just shoot me a PM! The same goes for my HIYA story, which I've taken down. If you want a copy all you have to do is ask! Sorry if this sounds like self promo. I just want y'all to know the option is there. And ISF, is coming, eventually. It's just low on the priority list, if we're being honest. **

He didn't even see Merle until a couple nights later. He'd come by, he could tell, but either his timing was lucky or Merle was watching for when he left because it was only ever when Daryl was out working. Which he'd been doing a lot of, catching up after these days of doing nothing with Beth, and he needed the money but it meant he hadn't seen her, either, her working those nights and him too tired to catch up after. And he didn't want the two of them to meet again, not even chance it, not until he'd talked to him. He'd asked Beth to leave it be until he told her different, and she'd obliged, giving him the space he'd asked for.

So he'd been alone for a couple days. Which was weirder than he would've guessed. Messier, too, trash piling up faster than he'd expected. But he wasn't working today and he was pretty sure he could wait Merle out. Between the two of them he'd always had more patience. He'd bought more of the beer Merle liked, even had pizza sitting here, and he felt like he was prepared for a war that he didn't even know was coming. He didn't know if Merle was angry or if he even felt anything about this at all, but if there was some kind of real discussion that had to happen he'd rather he be drunk and pliant. At least as pliant as Merle ever was.

And he was right. Merle showed up, close to midnight, took a second to look at the offering of pizza and beer, and didn't even bother asking why as he threw his jacket and shoes on the ground and sitting on the armchair, turning on the TV and helping himself. Daryl didn't bother asking him where he'd been and Merle didn't explain, though at least he didn't look strung out, his skin not too gaunt and his eyes clear. It was a couple hours later before Daryl was even tipsy enough to bring it up at all, the pizza mostly gone and both of them sporting a sizeable collection of the cans they'd emptied. Daryl texted her, just a _got him_, hoping that the thought of her would help spur him along.

"I know you saw her, man," he said, just throwing it out there between them and letting it burn.

Merle took a second to answer, taking his time chewing and swallowing. "Well, she saw me, too," he answered, a thread of annoyance in his voice. "You got a point?"

"No," he said, sighing and grabbing another beer just to have something in his hands and something to sip on so he could figure this out as he went, hoping to find some sentences somewhere.

"This the same bitch?"

He didn't even mean it like he said it, just a general term that he'd been using too many years to count, and it had never even bothered him before because what did he fucking care but now he felt it bothering him, twitching in his fingers. "Same girl, yeah." He swallowed, then just chugged, reaching for another when it was empty. "Been goin' long enough for you to call her by her name."

Merle looked at him, disbelief and irritation in the curl of his lip. "Her name?"

"It's Beth." He paused. "Might fuckin' see her again so best get out whatever bullshit you have about it now."

"Stayin' over?" he asked, and the disbelief was getting stronger as he wrapped his head around what he was saying. "You tellin' me this bitch -" he paused when Daryl threw a pointed look at him, "-this _Beth_ is gonna just be here now?" He could respect boundaries, sometimes, if Daryl insisted on it long enough, could learn which limits not to test.

"Maybe. I dunno." She'd texted him back and he checked it now. _Your brother? _He couldn't explain, would probably tell her later, so he typed a simple _yes_ and shut it close, letting it fall and bounce on the couch. "She wants to meet you."

Merle looked at him, plopping more than sitting as he came back with a fresh drink. "Get on my Sunday best? Make us somethin' real nice? Say _please_ and _thank you_? That what you want?"

He rolled his shoulders, sliding his empty beer into another bottle from a different night, watching them both fall off the edge of the table. "Just don't be an asshole, is all," he said, opening another, drinking it down. The beer had been here for Merle, but it was here and he found himself partaking anyways, things going warm as he watched the TV. "Don't fuckin' say shit 'bout what you saw."

"Didn't see shit. Didn't see shit 'cept you behind bars." He laughed, once, scratching his head. "Fucked up, man."

It was. "She's legal."

He snorted like he didn't believe him. "By how much?"

He paused, shrugging, not quite wanting to say it. "Eighteen," he managed, and he only choked around it a little bit. He was too far into it, now, but Jesus sometimes it hit him hard.

Merle howled, tossing his can behind him, grabbing for more pizza. "I try and get you home with how many fuckin' whores and I find you shackin' up with a goddamn teenager."

"Ain't like that," he said, feeling like they'd had this conversation before, but it was still going on and it was too much to deny. "It ain't that."

"What is it, then?" he asked, and here, at last, was a genuine conversation, the crux of the thing.

"It just… is," he said, trying to figure out the terms that would give him the least amount of shit but the most amount of understanding. "She ain't a lay."

"Yeah, I didn't think so," he grunted, rubbing the back of his neck, and the silence came out between them that was heavy like he'd feared. "It's weird, man," he finished after a second, drawing it out. "Ain't us, no matter what that pussy is tellin' ya."

No, it wasn't them. He'd said it before and he wasn't wrong. But the word "us" was being redefined, not so exclusive. He could be paired with her, them and us and we and together, all these words that meant something different now than they had for his whole life. "Yeah, it's weird," he agreed, grabbing another beer and sitting back. "But it's alright."

"Looked a little more than alright," he groaned, back to himself, a wink in his voice. "Looked pretty fuckin' perky from where I was standin'." He nodded in agreement with himself, making an outline of an hourglass with his hands.

Daryl just closed his eyes, letting himself feel good and drunk without the feelings of anger twined with deeply physical exhaustion that overcame him when he took it too far. But now he was good, light, no thoughts lingering too long and everything stretched out and languid. "Maybe you'll keep the fuck off my bed, now."

"No, no, brother," he countered, cracking open another drink. "See, now, you don't just lie there with all your fuckin' clothes on. You've gotta make _love_," he said, and Daryl didn't have to open his eyes to know the motion he was making with his hips. "I know I never taught you nothin' 'bout the birds and the bees. I ain't convinced you ever learned."

"Fuck you talkin' about?" he asked, opening his phone when he heard it vibrate. Beth. "Know more about where your dick's been than you do."

_you good?_

Merle kept on talking, but he tuned him out, focusing on making his fingers work on the keys that were too small, the screen blurring out.

_Yes what's _

But he accidentally pressed send too early, and he narrowed his eyes while he started another one, trying to remember the words he wanted to say in the right order he wanted to say them, ignoring the enthusiastic gestures that went along with whatever story of fuckery Merle was telling him.

_Where are you_

That was good. Not what he'd been going for the first time but this was a question he wanted to know the answer to, too. She texted back before he could even get his phone back in his pocket, and he took it out begrudgingly, opening it again.

_Home. _

Right. Where he'd asked her to be.

He wanted to respond but it was too annoying, so he just pushed himself off the couch and pressed the button to call her, waving Merle's questions off as he stepped outside. It rang a few times before she answered, her voice quieted.

"Daryl?" she asked, concerned. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he said, shrugging to himself, lowering his voice in response to hers. "Just. Callin'."

She paused. "You're drunk," she observed, sounding like she was smiling.

"I'm good." And he was. Nothing like before, not empty or searching or reckless.

"Didn't say you weren't," she said, still quiet.

It was late, he realized. And the last time they'd talked about this it was a whole different context, and things were different but maybe this was the same. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she sighed, yawning, her voice coming back clearer. "I mean. I trust you."

"Yeah." And he thought about that, all his thoughts kind of light and drifting, about trusting her and having it framed this way instead, and then thought about her on top of him and beneath him and the way she felt and the words she'd said. "Were you serious?"

He could hear her shifting. "About what?"

"About wanting to come." Impatient, trying to get her on the same page.

She sighed again even as she laughed, stifling it quickly. "Come where, Daryl?"

"With me. Out. Wherever."

"Huntin'?" She was confused and he guessed he couldn't blame her. It wasn't even about the hunting, or anything in specific, but about the opportunity and the asking and having her say yes. It was new even though it wasn't, and he wanted to hear her say it. "Yeah. If you want. I don't really want to kill anythin', but… yeah."

Listening to her talk, it wasn't even enough to just hear her. He was at a good level of lit and he wanted to see her, and his voice went lower as he let himself picture her. "Come."

She breathed, in and out. "I want to. But I think it's kinda late."

Yes, it was, and he wasn't far gone enough to insist on anything. He listened to her, timed a breath with hers. "Tomorrow, then."

Another smile, wide enough for him to hear. "You gonna be any good tomorrow?"

Probably not. "Don't matter. I'm sayin' come," he said, and his words weren't slurring but there was an edge to them, thinking of her over there and him over here and he had no idea when he'd become like this.

"Okay." She breathed some more, and he listened some more, and for a minute or two that was all there was. When she spoke she was even more awake than before, something serious in her voice, out of place. "Daryl, can you -"

But Merle came out at that moment, the door thudding back loudly against the outside wall, starting to walk off down the walkway before coming back and grabbing his shoulder, talking about being whipped and he couldn't even hear what else, loud and obnoxious and drunk.

"What?" he asked, closing his free ear against the noise, trying to focus, but Merle was almost yelling and everything was swimming and he couldn't even quite see straight.

"Just - I've been - nothin'," she said, giving up, voice back to tired quiet. "I'll come tomorrow."

He wanted to insist, but he was being dragged away, and he didn't really have any desire or want to leave but he didn't have much choice and sometimes, when the mood was right and the stars aligned, hanging out with his brother was good. "Tomorrow, alright?"

But she was already gone, the line dead, and he flipped the phone close, trying to let himself go where the night would take him without feeling like he was nothing more than a passenger.

He'd see her tomorrow.

* * *

The knocking at the door came way too early, and when it started it would not fucking stop. He grabbed for a pillow from the couch to put over his head, but of course their couch didn't fucking have any pillows, and of course Merle had gotten the bed and he'd been stuck on the couch when they'd come crawling back from a bar last night, his back sore and his ears hammering into his brain, gut churning as he reluctantly opened his eyes.

"Daryl," came her voice, and he could recognize it through the door, a couple more persistent taps. "It's noon."

He grabbed for his phone still sitting on the table, accidentally knocked it to the floor instead, leaning over further and cursing to pick it up. She wasn't lying. It wasn't crack of dawn, but nearly one. He looked at the time, but then a little lower there was a notification. Two missed calls from Beth, just her number because he still hadn't saved it, one call at three in the morning and the second one forty minutes after that. He hadn't fucking heard at all, and he forced himself awake, trying to get his thoughts moving faster.

He stood, slowly, keeping the swaying to a minimal, pushing himself with feet that dragged to the door and fumbling with the lock for a second before swinging it open. The light nearly knocked him off his feet, definitely pushing him back into the shadow as he threw his arm protectively over his eyes so that he couldn't even see. "What the fuck?" he asked, more on instinct than anything else, blinking a couple times before daring to move his hand. "You alright?"

Sure enough, it was her, standing there smiling, a bag of what looked like groceries hanging in one hand, hair half up with the braid and a tank hanging loose. "Mornin'!" was all she said, all perky and cheeks, making him suspicious that she was edging into being purposefully cheery as if to rub it in.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his eyes and then just his whole face, thinking maybe if he could just remove whatever layer of gross shit covered his skin then he could open his eyes without wincing. "You called-"

"You look good," she said, cutting him off, and she was most definitely doing it on purpose, just a walking exclamation point as she pushed past him under his arm, reaching up to pat his cheek in a move that shook his brain around his skull. "I brought breakfast stuff. I've never actually been hungover so I looked up what you should eat," she explained, and he watched her as she looked around, taking in the bottles and cans, glancing at him with alarm when she heard Merle's chainsaw of a snore. "Is he-?" she whispered, pointing at the bedroom.

He nodded, still standing at the frame with the sun beating down on his back, trying to let himself process without just throwing up all over the floor. He pushed the door shut, leaning heavily against it.

"Okay. Well. I brought enough," she said, resolute, walking around the couch and into the kitchen. "Sausage, eggs, biscuits," she listed, voice echoing.

He guessed he should follow her, but this was weird and he needed a minute to orient having her here walking around like she even knew where things were. And there were those calls she'd brushed off that he was curious about, but she didn't seem real set on telling him. He looked towards the bedroom, thinking that maybe he was supposed to wake Merle up, too, or maybe at least make some minimal effort to just shove all the trash to one side of the room, but she'd already seen and he decided to let sleeping things lie. So he meandered over to her, stopping to lower the blinds on his way, but it was all useless because in the kitchen she'd opened every single one, not just the blinds but the panes themselves, letting the light and warmth stream in.

"I brought powerade, too," she said absently when he came in. She was ducking down next to the fridge, opening the cabinets and frowning when she looked up at him. "You don't have any pans, Daryl."

He shook his head. "Nope."

"I thought everyone had pans," she said, standing up and taking two quick steps over to the other side of the room, boots clicking off the cheap linoleum as she searched the shelves there, too, and there was an unfamiliar note of tension in her hands as she stood on the tips of her toes. "Who doesn't have pans? Or silverware or real plates or cups or _anythin'_?"

"People that don't buy 'em," he said, peaking into the bags she'd left on the counter. Carton of eggs, rolls of sausage, biscuits in a can. He felt kinda bad. He didn't know what else he was supposed to have done, or how he was supposed to have known, but he couldn't remember the last time someone had made a meal for him outside of being paid to do so and he'd ruined it without even meaning to.

"Well," she said, turning around and putting her hands on the counter edge, tapping her nails, agitated. "What am I supposed to do, then?"

He shrugged, taking out one of the powerades from the plastic rings, twisting the top off. He felt bad, and she looked so disappointed that he wanted to offer something to fix it, her lips pursed as she looked around. "Got a microwave."

"You cook everything in the microwave?" she asked, looking at him like she was genuinely concerned.

He nodded his head, leaning against the fridge, sipping gingerly at his drink, trying to think of what else he could tell her to relieve her distress. "Beth, are you -"

"Who the fuck you talkin' -" Merle had come in, speaking at the same time, looking like some picture definition of white trash in a wife beater stained off white and boxers, and his brother looked old. He looked from Beth to Daryl, eyebrows shooting up to his receding hairline. "Well what do we have here?"

Daryl was looking at Beth, and even though she'd brought herself here and she said she wanted to know him she looked nervous. He thought how it must look from her point of view, the connection that could be drawn between them, and if Merle looked old Daryl had to look like he was right up there with him. He moved more towards her just to increase the distance, make them more separate, and she flashed a look at him before looking back to Merle.

"We met," she said. "But I'm Beth. Beth Greene." and he wanted to interrupt and referee this thing but also had a sense of sinking or swimming. He couldn't control Merle, and he definitely fucking couldn't control her, so he tried to be calm as he watched the forces meet, ready to come in if Merle made it necessary.

Merle nodded, appraising almost like he was checking her out, but Daryl knew better. Sizing her up, taking in the cross and the hair and her stature, the make of her clothes and how she wore them. "We sure did, sweetheart," he said, and walked in closer, taking up so much space. "You must excuse my brother," he continued, annunciating purposefully, giving a sarcastic little bow of his head that made Daryl wince. "Never did know how to give a proper welcome. Merle Dixon, at your service."

She didn't seem to know what to say, glancing at Daryl, muscles on her arm flexing as she squeezed the counter. "It's alright. We've got plans. But I'm sorry if I woke you," she said, voice even and clear and sweet. "I was gonna make some breakfast but turns out there's not too much cookin' done here."

Merle nodded some more, pushing Daryl with his shoulder so he could get to the fridge. "Best way to cure a hangover," he said, opening the door, grabbing another carton and shoving it loudly onto the counter next to her, "is to get drunk again," he finished, offering a beer to Daryl and then to Beth.

She shook her head, smiling tightly as she waved it off.

"Right, right," he said like he was realizing something. "Ain't of legal age to partake."

"Merle," he said loudly, shaking his head sharply when he had his attention, but Beth was already picking up what he was putting down, looking down towards her feet.

"Just pointing out the obvious, bro," he said. "We're all friendly here."

"Yeah," he repeated more slowly. "Friendly."

"I'm hungry," she interrupted. "And since I can't cook any of this - I'm just gonna go wait in the car. Alright?" she asked, and looked at him, and something was off. He didn't know if it was Merle or him or if it had something to do with why she'd called him, but he just nodded his head. "It was nice - sorry about breakfast," she said to Merle, but she waved off her own words, looking at the ground as she made her exit.

It was silent until the door closed behind her. Even Merle seemed a little off centered by the abruptness, but then he just shrugged, drinking his beer and swallowing loudly. "Hate to break it to you, but if she couldn't handle that then she sure as shit can't handle whatever the fuck you got goin'."

"Man, you don't know when to shut the fuck up," he said, and there were more things he wanted to say and his head was still pounding, everything gone downhill from an already shitty start, and he grabbed another powerade before he left to gather his shoes and follow her out the door.

**I WILL be reintroducing some angst next chapter and getting back to those phonecalls. I am just struggling with fucking up their happy place in a way that makes sense. But back to Beth POV. And I'm sorry if Merle was off? Idk. I really just want to focus on Beth and Daryl but sometimes these side bits are necessary. And I'd like for them to be friends but if I was an eighteen year old girl meeting my grown ass boyfriend's grown ass brother I don't know how smoothly it could possibly go. Next segment I am infinitely more excited about. **


	26. Chapter 26

**I have some thoughts/reasoning on why I'm taking the story here. There's a lot of emphasis in this world on how strong Beth is, and how healing their relationship is/how healing it could be after Grady (grumble) but I think there's evidence of her struggling before that… Idk. I love her. I'm trying to make this a two way street the best I can. **

Beth let him drive. Which maybe she shouldn't have, because he wasn't at his best and she knew she'd caused a bit of a scene back there, enough that he was aware. Even now, being less than polite didn't come naturally to her, and she felt uncomfortable with the impression she'd made. Especially when Daryl hadn't wanted it to happen in the first place.

She'd apologize. For now she was focusing on what was around her, the sun rays in a patch of distant blue sky, the deep gray clouds that had blown in since she'd arrived at his place. They were being aimless again, nothing but road and horizon. She rolled the window down to let the wind whip through her hair, the same wind that was turning the leaves in the trees upside down, pale undersides flashing against the darker green, and hitting hard enough against the side of the car that he had to adjust his steering, easing on the gas as he glanced at her.

But not asking. He'd give her that.

"It's gonna rain," she said, looking at her own reflection in the side mirror and then at the thunderous looking sky above her.

"What?" he asked, louder over the whistling sound of air passing them by.

"It's gonna rain," she repeated, pointing at the trees. "When I was younger my sister told me whenever the leaves turned over it meant it would rain."

He nodded, eyes back on the empty road as the trees gave way to a field that stretched back, grass turning in ripples. "Looks that way."

She turned to look at him instead, eyeing over his profile. There was still the pattern of lines from what she assumed was the couch pressed red onto his cheek, disappearing into the scruff along his jaw, and he looked tired. Bags under his eyes, bloodshot and squinting slightly even though the dark, dangerous looking clouds had gathered underneath to block out any of the remaining sun, his hair needing a wash along with the rest of him.

He looked old.

Or not old. But older. Old enough. A couple gray whiskers on his chin, skin that looked weathered, and this was always there but sometimes she noticed and it caught her a little. Enough to make her pause, take stock. Make her wonder if he could look at her and see the same thing, how much of a spectrum there was between them, and it got hard to keep even a loose kind of grip on the scope of this. It never explicitly bothered her, even, and she'd like to think she'd somewhat outgrown being naive about people and how they'd act. But sometimes she saw and she couldn't stop seeing.

There were times he'd look at her and she wished she knew what he was seeing, if it touched him the same way it touched her. If she looked young to him. Or if he even knew at all, knew that there were some things she could see in him that, even though she hadn't thought to look before this had started, were so sorely lacking in others. Eyes that cut deep, muscles in his arms and shoulders that cut deeper, rolling and bending and bowing in orchestrated sinuous waves as he held her around him, the veins that stood out in his forearm when his hand was between her legs, hands that worked and fingers that were dexterous and controlled.

He looked old. But he looked good.

"Sorry," she said, and he didn't look but he was listening. He had a way of listening with his whole body, everything still and attentive, like a dog with their ears perked up. "About breakfast."

"Seemed off," he said, and that was it. She could let it sit there. No one was making her talk or asking her questions, and she found such welcome relief in that.

"I told you I did counseling for a while?" she asked him, and he nodded once, succinct and on edge. "She taught me this thing for when things start feelin' off. All about breathin'. She had this clock, and I'd just listen to the seconds, and count. In for three, hold for two, out for five."

He took a second, and she watched his shoulders move. Counted with them, smiling a little when she could see that he was testing it out. Once, twice, and then again, his arms relaxing a bit and his eyes on the road. "Alright."

She rolled the window back up some more so she could hear him better, ducking under the seat belt cutting into her shoulder so that she could turn and face him more. "He thinks I'm too young." She didn't need to explain what she was talking about. He understood, his head dropping back to the headrest so he could look at the road with lidded eyes, leaving one arm outstretched to the steering wheel while the other rubbed two fingers at his temple.

"Merle thinks a lot of shit," he said. "Don't make it true."

"What do you think?" she asked, and she knew that it wasn't a topic of conversation he was too interested in participating in but if she nudged him hard enough he would.

"Think he'll come around," he answered after a pause.

"I think he's lookin' out for you," she said, eyeing his arm. There was something she liked about watching him driving her car, an essence of precision and surety in everything that he did that she found overwhelmingly comforting. "Like Maggie."

He didn't answer that, but she could see his tongue pressing at his cheek, eyes narrowing a sliver more. "Yeah."

She wanted to talk more about this, about how she could start the process of getting a do over or how she could make things go more smoothly next time, but it seemed like a conversation for later and she had other things here that she needed to get out of the way.

Last night had been long and she didn't really even know where to begin.

She'd had a good handle on things, for a while, but sometimes it could just start to spiral down and in, so quickly she couldn't even have a chance to even get her fingertips on it, escalating and building grossly thick and heavy walls all in her stomach and her ribs and her chest and her lungs. She couldn't see Daryl and she couldn't go home. She wasn't even sure she had one. She hadn't wanted to be anywhere, and it was all she'd been able to think while she tried to take a breath.

In for three. Hold for two. Out for five.

There were moments it would come back to her, that whole two seconds it had taken to cut herself, those two seconds where everything was slow and the pain wasn't even there and the blood came faster than she'd expected or even knew what to do with. Not a cut, but a slice. She took out that wrist now, undid the faux leather ties, letting the cuff fall to the seat. He was looking at her again, quick little worried glances whenever he could spare them, and she felt that concern. Tried to ground herself, feeling validated with this scar that was real and this wind that was bitingly cool and it was just beginning to rain, big drops on her cheek and her forehead. Breathing, counting the breaths because those were real and the numbers were real, too, solid and definable in her head.

It was mostly okay, now. She couldn't pinpoint the last time she'd had a bad day, especially not since meeting him and the whole new set of distractions and feelings he'd introduced that were nice to focus on. Definitely hadn't had any bad nights, when she'd just get tired and it would all come crashing down for seemingly no reason at all, leaving her feeling so horribly and overwhelmingly awful and with nothing else to do but hate the unfairness of it. Physically withdraw from the ugliness, feel herself cut more strings and look down on it from the outside like she wasn't even there, where she felt bad but mostly felt like nothing at all.

No. Things weren't like that anymore. She'd gone through that and she was here now and so was he and that was all more than enough. But there had been a glimpse of it last night.

First at the bar. It was the first time in a while she'd been there without him, and while they'd never really even talk much when he was there he'd watch her and she'd watch him until they left together and he had a heavy sort of presence. It hadn't taken her long to figure out that she wasn't the only one who'd noticed it, either his being there or, worse, his absence. She'd had to field drunk customers away like she'd seen Shannon do, had been leered at, sweet talked, asked about being a bar wife and an old lady and been told she was too beautiful to be a good girl, all while she fended off men who were in a whole distinctly different category of old from Daryl trying to get her attention with touches and pulls. Not even entirely purposefully menacing, she didn't think, but even though she'd said no to boys before there was something worse about looking at these men who lingered somewhere between Daryl's age and her father's and having nothing she'd felt like she could say.

She'd felt weak.

She hated feeling weak.

She'd gotten off work, waiting an extra twenty minutes for the parking lot to clear out. Got in her car and put her hands on the steering wheel and tried to breathe, feeling like she needed to do something. Act. Decide. Something tangible. And then she'd remembered, suddenly, that night on the bar porch when he'd taught her to smoke, the way he'd looked at her and how hard he'd grabbed her, and that seemed a good enough solution. Drove to a gas station and asked for the first brand she could think of. Ended up having to go back in and buy a lighter, because she didn't have one and she felt committed to this path.

And then had come this whole experience of actually driving aimlessly around looking for a place that looked worthy enough for this nonevent, and she wasn't even sure why it mattered because people literally did this all the time. People smoked. Her friends smoked, her brother smoked, she'd watched Daryl go through dozens of cigarettes. So she'd ended up going back to that place she'd taken him, the empty parking lot and the empty fairgrounds, sitting back up on the hood. Tapped the box against the palm of her hand like she'd seen him do, took off the plastic and tucked it into her pocket so that it wouldn't blow away in the wind. Picked one out, held it by the filter, and it didn't feel natural but it felt like something.

But she couldn't get the lighter to work. Her thumb was fumbling and she was cold and she couldn't get the strength of her grip right, and any flame she was able to conjure up was gone a second later by wind she couldn't seem to block. She couldn't make it work, and she'd been exchanging a couple texts back and forth with Daryl these past few days but she hadn't seen him and she didn't think she'd realized until now how there didn't really feel like there was anybody else.

So she'd gone back to Sarah's. Which was about the time he'd called her.

There were a lot of these things that she didn't really have any intention of telling him, because there was nothing he could do and most of it she could handle. But she could tell him some. He hadn't noticed the box of her cigarettes sitting in the center console, and she nudged them toward him with her foot. He looked at her and then looked down, forehead wrinkling as he frowned in confusion. He reached down for them, picking them up and holding them on top of the steering wheel so he could look. "What're these?"

"Mine," she said. "I bought them."

Another flash of a look at her, more surprised and amused. "Since when you smoke menthols?"

"I don't. But I bought some last night." Breathing in. Holding it. Breathing out. "Guess I was thinkin' about you."

"That why you called?" he asked, sounding sort of like he might be relieved.

"Sorta." She was being vague without meaning to be, but there was just a whole mess of everything and it was hard to pick out what she wanted to say. He'd called and she hadn't gotten to say anything that she'd wanted to, so she'd gone outside to get some air only to see the peach tree he'd planted for her instead. She'd sat down, staring at that tree and the few blooms left near the the top, the lighter tucked in her pocket, thinking of Daryl but also thinking of other things. Summers past, sunrises and sunsets that reflected gold and pink off the grass and off the white siding of her house, going with her father on vet appointments to other farms, Maggie visiting and both of them riding in the bed of Shaun's truck because the weather was nice and they could.

But the longer she sat there staring the more she thought of other less happy things. More pictures and memories, all tumbling and snowballing together in ways she couldn't stop, the images conjoining, her room and Maggie's room, the kitchen, the study, the bathroom, blood in drips on the floor when she failed to effectively hold it in, being in that hospital and seeing her family's faces and how sorry she'd felt.

That was when she'd called him the first time.

"My brother called," she said, skipping the peach tree, moving onto something easier to explain.

"Your brother?" She nodded, trying to gauge his reaction. He rubbed at his jaw and his chin, pulling gently at the hairs. "What'd he say?"

"He and Maggie had been talkin'. She didn't tell him anythin'," she hurried to say when she saw him stiffen, but he didn't relax. "He just wanted to talk."

After she'd gone home this last time, she'd been on better terms. Called her mother more. Called Maggie a bit less than that. But Shaun had been mostly absent. He took after their father, not loud anger like Maggie, but quiet, simmering and disappointed. He'd called and she hadn't even been sure she could answer. But she had, and he'd told her things. Just catching up, at first, like there wasn't this huge mountain of bullshit that they both had to get over. One of the horses had been sick, but was doing better now. Annette had finally hired some hands to pick up the slack. Had boxed some things of Hershel's. Seemed to be doing better.

And then an apology, because things had gotten so screwed up and screwed up so fast. "He said sorry," she added, thinking back on the words. "Maggie had been keeping him updated. Knew that I was working at a bar." She smiled a little, because he'd been surprised and honestly so was she. "I guess I felt homesick. That's why I called you."

Very homesick, like nothing she'd felt before, and she'd hung up the phone and looked at the peach tree and Daryl didn't answer and everything had felt so wrong and out of place that she hadn't known what to do about it.

"Sorry," he said, and she could hear how much he meant it. "Didn't even fuckin' hear it."

"It's okay," she said. "You can't answer all the time, Daryl."

He didn't seem to like that, eyebrows furrowing as he rubbed at his mouth. "I know."

"Can you take me to the store?" she asked, and she hadn't been thinking about it but she knew that this was what she wanted to do. "I just thought of somethin' I want."

He looked at her, but she just smiled. There was something fun about keeping him in suspense, about seeing what could make him react. He looked back on the road, looking behind them and around before slowing down to swing them into a harsh u-turn, her tires skidding roughly over the dirt and making him light up a little in excitement. It took about twenty minutes, because when it came to basics there was really only a Walmart, always crowded because there weren't any other places to go. But he drove her there, waited in the car while she got what she was looking for.

The rain had finally really started when she came back out, skipping the sprinkling to go straight into a downpour, soaking her hair and her shoulders in a matter of seconds and forcing her to tuck her bag under her arm as she jogged back out to the car. He reached across to open the door for her so she could slide right in, blinking the water out of her eyes while he watched with distant curiosity.

She'd gotten a cheap little spiral notebook, along with a pack of equally cheap pens. She took the notebook out now to wave it at him, turning to set herself up with her back to the door and her knees bent so she had a surface. She opened to the first page, getting out one of the pens and tossing the cap at him. He caught it easily, still watching.

"It's a journal," she said. "Or it will be." She had one at home, one of the many things that had been left behind, and until she'd thought about it today she hadn't realized how much she'd missed it. Recording, releasing the mess of everything onto the page, looking back at it later just to see how far she'd come and how much difference time could make. "It's another thing I got from therapy. Sometimes things don't seem that bad if you write it down."

"You do that a lot?" he asked, resting an arm against the window frame, the heat of his skin casting a smudged line of fog against the glass.

"I used to. Even before I was supposed to." She put an absent little mark of a swirl down the margin, ending it in a messy flower while he watched, the rain coming down harder on the plastic of the rear windows. "Sometimes if you're thinkin' a lot it helps to write it down. Put it away."

He nodded, just listening, and that was fine. He'd pushed the seat back while she was gone, giving his legs room to stretch out, knee brushing against her keys in the ignition and making them jingle.

"So I'd make lists," she continued.

"Of what?" Not looking at her, but she had his attention, his face just barely visible over her knees.

"Things I want. Things I've done. Wishes." She put a number one down to start. "Like… I don't know. Anythin'." There were a lot of things that she wanted, but since last night there was only one that she could really think of. The biggest one.

Go home.

"I think I should go back," she said quietly, watching him.

He looked at her before nodding, reaching for the keys. "I'll take you."

"No. I mean go back. Like home."

If she hadn't been watching him carefully she might've missed the subtle look of what she could only identify as worry, face setting in stone, and he only glanced at her for a second before looking back out the front window. The rain was still coming down hard, different patterns of sound as it hit the plastic and the glass and the metal. "If that's what you want."

"I think it is," she said. "I just think it's time."

He'd forced out any of the panic that she'd been able to see, but still didn't look exactly happy, frowning before he looked out his window so she couldn't see. "Alright then."

"You sound mad," she said, looking at what she could see of his jaw, a tiny muscle towards his ear clenching. "Do you not think I should?"

"Didn't think you were askin'," he said, still edgy, and she sat with her head back against the window so she could try and give him some space to figure out the words she could still see coming, his fingers flexing along the top of his thigh.

"I wasn't," she said when he still didn't say anything. "But if you don't-"

"If you wanna go then go," he said, not shouting or even clearly angry that she could see but biting at the words, harsh as he threw them at her.

She thought she could maybe sense some of what this was about, but didn't know how to approach it. "It's just somethin' I should do. They're family. It won't change-"

He finally looked at her and it was enough that she stopped talking. "Don't."

She ignored him. "It won't change anythin'. We'll just have to make it work," she said, making her voice as matter of fact as she could, hoping he'd believe her.

He snorted, shaking his head. "Alright."

"What happened to trustin' me?" she asked, arching a foot over to lay on his knee. "Don't I look trustworthy?"

He looked at her and she could see him soften, the anger melting away as his shoulders relaxed. "Look like trouble."

She smiled wide, and he stared at her for a couple seconds more before looking at the rest of her. "It'll be okay. It'll be good," she added, more resolute, because she had a plan and there were definitive actions that she could take and she felt less lost already. "I'm gonna do you, too," she said, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Do me what?"

"A list," she said, drawing a line to cut hers off, starting anew. "What do you wish for?"

He shrugged, but she waited, looking at him while he looked out. Quiet but thinking, she could see, his thumb running along the undersides of his fingers while he clenched his hand in and out of a fist. "Nothin'."

"There's gotta be somethin'," she said, bearing down harder. "Somethin' you want. Somethin' you like. Somethin' you want to happen."

"I'm good," he said, shaking his head, picking back up the cap of the pen to turn it between his fingers. He wasn't, she didn't think, but he was better and so was she.

"If you don't tell me I'm just gonna choose for you."

He smiled, just barely, the corner of his mouth lifting as he broke away from looking at his hands to look over at her. "Go ahead."

"Fine," she said, looking back down at her paper. "You want a new motorcycle."

He was nodding as he listened, the smile still there, and he looked so good. She sat up a little higher, tapping the pen against the paper. There were a couple ways he did this, made her feel like she was strong enough to handle it. The ways he touched her were good, that barrier broken from soft to hard like he couldn't help but grip her tight, fingers digging into her waist or her thigh with his mouth on her chest. The way he stared, and the way he couldn't look at all if she was touching him back. But there were also times like this, where she could talk and he would listen and she could just tell he was alright with just being here. Content.

"And," she added, drawing out his name onto the page. "You want kitchen stuff."

He reached down the side of the chair, patting along until he found the lever so that he could recline his seat back, putting an arm behind his head. His eyes sidled over to her for a couple seconds before they closed, not sleeping but resting. "Alright."

She was feeling a little bolder, now, looking at him, and just the knowledge that she could reach over and touch him right now and he would touch her back was intoxicating. Hers and his, just these moments between them to make it theirs. She could sit here, naming off whatever list of wishes for him she could think of, and he would just sit and listen and be. She felt so safe, safe and secure, but also other things that stirred as she watched the little flexes of his whole body. "You wish I was touchin' you right now."

He didn't open his eyes, but she saw him react, hand tightening to hold onto the headrest, fingers making bold dents in the cushion. "Anythin' else?"

This was just on the boundary of edging into something else, the precipice there with him just waiting for her to push it if she wanted. She was reminded of that day in his bed, her on top of him and his mouth at her ear, voice smooth as gravel, and she felt that concentrated heat all over again, centered and intense. She jotted down what she'd come up with so far, trying to think of where she wanted this to go. But she looked at him, all of him, not just his face but his arms and his torso and his hips and his legs, and she didn't want to think at all. Because maybe things would be different, but right now they were the same and she had him.

She started without telling him, but he opened his eyes when he heard her toss the spiral to the floor. He didn't move, watching her struggle a little awkwardly with a hand reached over to his shoulder and one foot on the floor between his. Her knee bumped painfully into the center console, her head rubbing along the loose fabric of the ceiling while a couple fingers accidentally slipped into his open bottle of powerade knocking it sideways so it spilled onto her shirt. But then his hand was on the back of her thigh, pulling her the rest of the way over so she was in his lap, her knees nearly falling off the edges of the seat.

She stared down at him, pushing his hair back from his eyes, feeling them both settle, his legs spreading to support her. "You good?" she asked, and he nodded, his hand brushing up the side of her leg. Her wet hair was falling in chunks around his neck and shoulder, and he reached up to squeeze the water out between his thumb and index finger, looking at her mouth and down between them.

"I'm good," he answered a couple moments later, and this time she nodded, letting them both idle here. She twisted a little so she could press her crotch against the top of his thigh, shifting so that the seam of her jeans could catch her just right, and he shook his head like he couldn't believe the audacity. She smiled, wriggling again until she could grind a few inches, letting him watch her find her pleasure because she couldn't get enough of him staring at her like she was the sun.

He stayed still except for his fingers hooking into her belt loop to pull her in an encouraging little thrust, chin tilting back so his mouth could follow her when her head went above his, her hand bracing itself on the seat above his shoulder. "Enjoyin' yourself?" he asked, voice gruff like how it got when she had him like this.

She nodded enthusiastically. Her fingers were still wet with powerade and she hadn't really planned on doing anything about it but she leaned back a couple inches to press them against his lips, the edge of his teeth when his mouth opened for her as he stared with nothing but blue. She traced, smiling when she felt the sharp incisors and then his tongue, just the tip of it testing against the pads of her fingers. He caught her wrist in his hand, and all of a sudden the tables had turned and she wasn't in charge at all, him drawing her in until her whole fingers were against the flat of his tongue, smooth flashes of his teeth on her skin as his mouth closed and he sucked at her hard. Her mouth opened as she whimpered, a little surprised, looking at his hollowed cheeks, his eyes trained so firmly on her, and she could almost hear his voice as he told her how _wet_ she'd get, and she was so aware of everything.

He finally let her go and she practically collapsed, only aiming with the general direction of her mouth against his, her fingers wet against his cheek and he was pressing hard against her, one hand on the back of her head holding her to him. She shifted again so her hips were on top of his, taking up the grind she'd started for herself, and he bit down on her lip and dug into her back like he approved. They weren't in some Walmart parking lot in the middle of the day, or even sitting in the humid and heat of her car. She couldn't care about any of it, dragging in air because suddenly there was none, her name whispered into her jaw and his tongue tracing whatever lines of her neck he found.

But then a car door slammed, startlingly close, and she snapped back hard enough that her foot nudged into the steering wheel and it honked. She jumped again and so did he, accidentally pulling her hair and his head knocking against hers.

Everything was frozen for a solid few seconds before she laughed, folding back down against him. Back to his neck, smiling against his jaw and biting a little at his ear. Softer, the intensity a little lost, but she was heady with him and he looked so, so good.

"Don't really plan on gettin' arrested, girl," he said, joking, and she knew he was right but his hands were skimming lower down her back because this was so hard to stop, and she kissed him anyways, light against his jaw. She could feel him stiffen, everything narrowing in focus, but then he was kissing her once against her hairline before laying back down, his hands stopping loose at the small of her back.

She was still so needful, a live wire or an open flame, and mostly out of her control her hips pushed down against his, a reckless rhythm of want. He grabbed her just to keep her still.

"Easy," he grunted, and she nodded into his neck, thinking about how for all that she knew about boys, for all the assumptions she knew people would make or had already made, it wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to be both the push and the pull against him, asking over and over to the point of begging, or him pulling her hands more safely north of his chest. "Take care of you later."

But that just made it worse, and she let out a frustrated groan against his shoulder, feeling the deep rumblings of a short lived laugh in his chest.

"Sorry," she whispered. She tried to breathe, in, hold it, and out, wanting to be as in control as he almost always seemed to be. She rest her head against his sternum, laying on top of him just to feel him strong and solid underneath her, his heart beating right under her ear and if she concentrated she thought she could hear his blood pumping, muscles shifting and lungs moving the air in and out, and everything about him was steady. She undid his shirt, just a couple buttons, enough to give her room to rest her mouth against his chest, a few hairs gone silver here, too. But everything was defined, his chest and his collarbone going into his shoulders, his hands on her back and then in her hair under her ponytail as his head dipped back to the seat and everything went warm.

She wasn't trying to push, not anymore, and she relented, trying to be calm.

He'd take care of her.

**I'm not sorry at all **


	27. Chapter 27

**we're picking back up with Beth's POV because I'm not done with it yet. I love Suffering too much. xx**

Two days later and Beth's plan didn't feel as solid.

She wasn't backing down. Couldn't even if she wanted to, because she'd told her family she was coming and her mother had called her about fifteen times since then, and she'd never been one for lying. She would leave tonight like they were expecting her to.

But she was nervous in a way she hadn't been, which she didn't like. She couldn't do anything with nervous, nothing except try and channel it into something more productive. Like packing. Which there wasn't even much to do of; she'd left in a hurry and had mostly been living out of her car these past few weeks. So the job was pretty much already done, but she had maybe an hour to spare and she knew how she wanted to spend it.

_Come help me pack_, she texted him, and not two minutes later he'd texted back _Ok_. He was getting better.

She hadn't seen him, either. Not because she'd been avoiding him but just because there hadn't really been much in the way of time. He hadn't tried to get in contact with her, she guessed in an attempt to give her some space. But right now she wasn't really looking for space. So she sat down on the porch, waiting.

She heard him before she saw him, motorcycle instead of truck coming down her street, engine echoes reverberating in the air around her. She stood when he pulled in, watched him step off and put the kickstand down, turning to nod his hello at her. Standing there, leather and smoke and tall and wild, and she felt a low pulse of excitement just for him being here. He was looking at her, too. She'd put on a Sunday worthy dress to help her arrive more smoothly home, and she could see he liked it. She walked towards him, stopping a couple feet away so he could see.

She grabbed onto the skirt, flipping it around a little. "Hi."

He didn't answer, eyes drifting away from hers and over to her car, the tree and the house behind her. "Look like you came from church."

"I probably will be on Sunday. Just practicing." She turned for him, fast enough for the skirt to flare out a in a circle, twisting around her legs. "You like it?"

"S'alright," he said, but he finally walked over to her, fingers brushing a touch on her waist as he walked past and over to her car. "Thought you wanted help?" he asked, gesturing towards the window where you could see her things piled inside, guitar case on top of it all.

"I lied," she said, linking her hands behind her back, tilting her head a little, blinking. Big baby blues. She knew what she looked like, had learned the kinds of things she could get away with.

He nodded, fighting around a smile that fell as he took a peek inside her window. "Guess you're set, then."

She frowned, looking at the boxes, the loose clothes and hangers, an old stuffed animal that she'd grabbed but had never made its way out of her back seat. "I'm goin' back tonight."

He nodded again, once, turning away, looking like he didn't know what to do with himself. She guessed he didn't. She reached for his hand, fingers sliding down his wrist until her fingers were pressing between his. Barely holding hands, but he didn't fight it. It was too soon for the night to be taking on this kind of hue. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nothin' to say," he said, shrugging the shoulder of the arm she wasn't touching, leaning back against her car hard enough that it swayed against his weight.

She really wasn't interested in fighting, or, worse, this sulking silence that he didn't seem to have any interest in explaining. It made her anxious, and she didn't have any room for that. "Come on," she said, grabbing a more solid hold of his hand and pulling. "I've got somethin' to show you, c'mon."

"Where?" he asked, and she could see he was tired. Reluctant. Sometimes he needed a shove instead of a push. "Kinda late."

She rolled her eyes, grabbing onto his wrist wth her free hand. "Why can't you just come? Don't you always end up likin' comin' with me?"

He was putting away some of that tiredness she'd seen, looking down at her with something closer to begrudging amusement, and this time when she pulled she felt him purposefully resisting. She tugged him again, but he was making her work for it, and he was so strong that she didn't think it was really requiring putting much effort at all into resisting.

"Where?" he repeated, and she swung around behind him, arms around his waist and chin between his shoulders to try and push him along that way. He finally moved, taking steps that were lumbering and slow just because they could be.

"Just move and you'll find out." He let her push him, her laughing against his back as they moved past the woodsy threshold, encompasses by trees and breaks of shadow. It was a couple minutes before they reached what she'd found one restless day, and really, it wasn't very much at all: just another field, cleared randomly from trees except for some stumps along the outskirts, but you couldn't see the trailers from here and none of the artificial lights could penetrate the barrier of trees. The sky was clear overhead, and there weren't any peach trees or ugly reminders out here.

"S'just grass," he said, looking at her peeking from around him.

"Yeah. But it's quiet. Doesn't feel like a trailer park anymore." She frowned, glancing up at him. "Not that there's anythin' wrong with-"

"I got it," he interrupted, looking around and raising his arms a little while she disentangled herself. She wandered towards the center, looking for a spot where the grass wasn't as tall or the earth so knotted before sitting down.

He didn't follow her, watching her and watching everything else, orienting himself like he always did when she showed him something new. He looked so heavy, like the gravity was more present wherever he stood. Just drew her attention and he was so interesting to look at, the way he moved or more importantly the ways he didn't. Always fidgeting but also rooted in place. She could lean against him and he wouldn't bend or break.

"Come sit with me," she said, patting the dirt next to her.

He looked around, glancing back at the direction they'd came before doing what she'd asked, lowering himself to the ground far enough away that they weren't touching. He'd showered, the grease off his skin and hair clean enough that the wind was able to make it move. Sleeveless, again, and she let herself stare. There was so much hardness in him that it made her ache a little just to look at him and see it all.

She eased herself down to the grass, flattening her spine, touching his back to get him to come down with her. The moon was full, hovering low and large and tinged yellow.

"Gonna get chiggers," he said, turning to look at her for a brief couple of seconds before turning away.

"Maybe," she said. "We won't stay long."

They both just laid there for a bit, settling, and it when she spoke she felt the need to do it quietly. "I told my mom. Maggie. Shawn." She swallowed. It was warm, a pleasant breeze licking over the grass and making the branches rustle.

He only grunted, tossing an arm over his forehead, licking his lips, biting at the inside of his cheek.

She sighed. "You're bein' kind of quiet about it."

He shook his head, moonlight falling into the defined hollows of his face. "Don't got anythin' to say."

"Yeah. You do. You're just not saying it." She turned her attention elsewhere, thinking back to that morning of failed breakfasts that they still hadn't really talked about. "Did anythin' happen with your brother? When you went home?"

He shook his head again, fingers on the hand over his head twitching in and out of shapes against his palm. "He's had some people over."

There was something about the way he said that made her sure it wasn't a positive thing. "Good people?"

He huffed a laugh. "No."

He didn't expand, and she had questions. Of course she did. That was nearly always true. But as much as she wanted to know, wanted to know about his brother and what Daryl's definition of "not good people" was - because she had a feeling his idea of bad went far beyond hers - she also knew, at some level, that it wasn't important right now. That if she felt the need to escape sometimes so did he. "I want to try again. I think he'd like me."

There was a ghost of a smile, cheek tensing for just a second as his foot slid along the dirt so his legs both fell straight. "Anyone ever not?"

She smiled wide, not trying to hide it. "There was a girl in second grade once," she started, grass tickling her cheek as she turned her head into it. But, really, the answer was no. She got on well with people. Always had. In fact, the last time she could remember someone looking at her and her getting the feeling they really, truly were not liking what they were seeing had been with the man next to her right now. "I didn't think you liked me, at first," she added more seriously, and watched as he closed his eyes.

He didn't answer, and she turned back up to the sky, stars upon stars upon stars. "I'm nervous," she admitted, reaching over the space between them to back her hand up to his, touching her fingers out over his knuckles. "About home."

"Don't go, then," he said, jaw flexing with the words, turning his palm up to her touch.

She shook her head. "Just because something scares you doesn't mean you shouldn't do it," she said, turning to her side and wrapping her arm under his so that she could trace over the curves he'd worked into place, watching his chest move in even breaths.

He took a second to answer, blinking slowly up at the sky, fingers bending to catch her between them gently as she followed the lines of his palm. "Don't think I've seen you scared much."

These were the kinds of things she wished she could explain to Maggie. Not just the words he said but the way he said them. Like he saw these things in her and not only believed that it was real but also believed in her. "That's not true. You made me nervous all the time."

He snorted. "Stop."

"It's true," she said, turning more so she could rest her chin on his shoulder, smelling him and feeling the landscape of his arms change under her fingertips. "I used to be scared of all kinds of things." She swallowed, because these weren't the types of discussions she was used to having outside of a closed room with a woman who was being paid to have them. She didn't feel the need to expand. He could pick some things up on his own. But there were other things she needed from him, some kind of explanation of whatever had him skirting around this with a ten foot pole. "If you're worried or somethin' I want you to tell me."

He sat up, suddenly, leaving her to fall a little in his absence. "When they expectin' you?"

She didn't answer for a second, taking the time to sit up, letting her legs fall against his. "I dunno. Maybe half an hour."

He laughed humorlessly, nothing but air behind it. He'd tensed at some point in this conversation, and now he looked nearly apprehensive, pulling one knee up to his chest to rest his elbow on it, the other brushing his open fingers through the grass and then closing them so he could rip the blades up from the dirt.

"We've got some time," she said, scrambling a little because she could feel something on the verge of breaking right now. "Enough time to-"

"Ain't time for shit," he interrupted, and pushed himself to his feet, looking down at her before offering his hand. "C'mon. You gotta get goin'."

She frowned, but took his hand, letting him pull her briskly to her feet. He didn't waste any time, going back to where she'd pushed him in. "It's not that late," she argued, following close behind him through the trees. "We've been out later, it's not-"

"Ain't no one expectin' me somewhere, girl," he said, slowing down enough to lift a branch so she could duck under it, hand falling on her shoulder to keep her steady as she passed. She didn't know what to say, so she opted to say nothing, mulling over his words and what she could do to respond to them.

But then they were out, back in the yard, walking slowly side by side until they were stopped by the peach tree in the center of it, the porch lights flicking on as it sensed them. She faced him quietly. He was standing still, and so was she, caught in this moment that she wasn't ready to end, and it was awkward. Tangibly so. He was looking at the tree he'd planted for her, and she could see that he wasn't wanting to be here.

"Are you-" she started, but then stopped. She'd been going to ask him if he was okay, but somehow knew that wasn't the right question to ask. "Are you workin' this weekend?"

"Maybe," he answered, reaching up to a leaf and tearing it from its branch so he could rip it between his fingers. "Why?"

"Why do you think?" she asked, trying to tease but falling short. "I want to see you."

He didn't say anything at first, and he hadn't even said it yet but she knew that what was coming wasn't good. "Think we should give it some space. Time."

This was a very different kind of panic, one that hit her instantly and sharp. "What're you talkin' about?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "Been thinkin'."

"Thinkin' about what?" Her words were coming sharper than she meant for them to, but this - this conversation that was veering dangerously into what she imagined a _break up_ was supposed to be - was hurting her at the same time it was making her angry.

He let his head fall back between his shoulder blades. "You're goin' home, Beth."

She stared at him, but if he could feel it he didn't return it. "So?"

His whole demeanor changed, patting down his pockets and pulling out a cigarette, lighting it up and turning his back on her to give the tree his full attention, his head cocking backwards to see the top. But she sidestepped so she could stand next to him, touching his arm in an attempt to turn him to her.

She'd asked him to talk, but this wasn't what she'd been expecting. "Did somethin' happen? Did Merle say somethin'? Did you see Maggie?"

He shook his head. "Nothin' happened."

"Then I don't understand," she said. "Last time I saw you, you believed I could do this."

"Got nothin' to do with it," he said, and finally she felt she was getting somewhere as he looked sharply at her. "Don't think you're gonna."

"Don't think I'm gonna what?" she pressed, not trying to be gentle or coordinated. "I told you this, I told you you can't just start yellin' when you're mad, I can see that you're scared-"

"I ain't scared," he said, and he punched out the words like they were meant to hurt, loud before he steeled himself back to quiet. "I can't come with you."

"You could-" But she stopped before she could even finish the thought, because she already knew, no. He couldn't. It wasn't that she hadn't thought of it, but now, here, in application - he couldn't. There was taking him to a bar of strangers and then there was having him drop her off at her front door. There wasn't even any pretending. "I know."

He nodded, and those uncomfortable beats of unfamiliar silence crawled between them again, the tempo slow and uneven. This wasn't how she'd wanted this night to go, no fun, no kisses, and she'd meant for this to be some kind of release for this new transition she was going into but instead she just felt worse. Even now, she was struggling trying to stay present. Being stuck in her own head wasn't a feeling she thought she'd get used to. Thoughts, repetitive and surrounding and pressing in on the edges of her skull - _what if this is it, what if it's not enough, what if it's changed, what if what if what if_. She could try to wrangle these questions, and she'd learned how to be more successful with that, but other times it was like this, thoughts that were wild, circling over and over with stamping hoofs that even dug themselves into her vision and her tongue so that it was all she could see and all she could taste. Directionless except to drive her down, and she was trying to think of ways out of just standing here and taking it.

"This is it," he said, drawing in deep, looking at everything but her. "For a while."

"It's not," she countered, and there were those pulls at the bottom of her stomach, trying to drag her into the ground at the same time that little angry light of fire pushed her taller. "Could you just look at me, please?"

He did, reluctantly, forcing his eyes on her, twitching the cigarette up between his teeth. He rolled both his shoulders back in a stubborn sort of shrug, hair falling in his eyes and smoke escaping between his lips before he plucked the cigarette back between his fingers. "Just is."

"It's not," she said, crossing her arms, but he turned away from her, shaking his head. "Why're you bein' like this?"

"Like what, girl?" he asked, and instead of tossing the cigarette to the ground he pressed the still glowing end to the trunk of her peach tree until the filter was crumpled against the bark, scraping it down to leave a trail of ash in its wake.

"Like you expected it," she said, and he was back to looking at the tree. She could see his eyes tracking over the branches like veins, thin and wavering in an ever present breeze. It was worse that he didn't even seem angry. She'd seen him that way, seen him terse and loud even while saying nothing at all. But this was different. "Like you don't care. It's bullshit."

That drew his attention, eyes moving over her face instead, shadows falling deeper under the porch fluorescents. "How'd you think this was gonna play out?" he asked, and she'd seemed to have pulled something out of him, his voice going deeper with bitter, cynical edges.

"Maggie knows," she said. "Your brother knows. I'm not gonna quit workin', we can -"

"Can what?" He cut in, squaring more towards her, and sometimes he did this and it felt like he grew six inches taller. Just expanded, taking up all the space she could feel around her even as she saw something in him withdraw.

He wasn't wrong, but he also wasn't right, and she couldn't stand the feeling of being here and listening to him talk down all over her to feed the thoughts that were already there. Not here. Not with him. "I'm not doin' this," she said, looking away long enough to brush the ashes he'd left. "You can be scared but I'm not."

Another flash of a look as he grew even taller, shoulders flattening out, and just like it could catch her how old he really was sometimes she saw that he could be dangerous. Not in a way that scared her. But there had been that night when she'd kissed him the first time, when she'd seen him fight with all the ferocity of something caged and feral, and she knew she wasn't wrong in her conclusion that it hadn't been his first. He reminded her of that now, gearing up and building in defensive breaths that pushed his chest out as he leaned more towards her.

But he didn't scare her. She wasn't sure he ever had.

"I know what you think but you're wrong." She did that controlled breathing again, and even though sometimes he made her feel young there were other times like this where she felt so much older. "And if I'm tellin' you I can do this you can't stand there and tell me I won't. And I'm tellin' you you could come with me." She didn't mean right now, tonight. She was thinking back a little further, of them sitting at the gas station in the rain when he'd told her this wasn't her place. But he'd been wrong then and he was wrong now. This could be her place just as much as his, cigarettes and bars and beer, and she could go home with nightly dinners and summer storms and farm chores and that could be his place, too. "Okay?"

He looked tired again. Old and worn and exhausted, and she could see for the first time how much this was bothering him. How deeply. She didn't even know how much she could touch on it. So she stepped forward, then stepped into him, arms back around his waist and her head on his chest, kissing him there and feeling his heart and holding him to her while his hand fell somewhat loosely on her shoulder. Letting it happen. Sometimes that's all she felt like she could ask.

That went on, long enough for the lights to click back off, and she wasn't sure how much time had passed when he walked her back to her car. She didn't get inside, turning to rest against it like he had, grabbing for his shirt to pull him closer. "Are we good?" It felt like she was constantly asking him that. Was he good, was she, were they. But that was all she wanted for him, was to be good.

He nodded, slowly, not putting up any resistance at all this time, letting her pull him so his shoes were toeing up against hers and he had to look down at her, hair falling into his face. "Yeah."

"Okay," she said, standing up straighter, tilting her head a little. "Then kiss me."

He liked that. She could tell. He'd released some of whatever had just happened, and now he was back to fighting another smile, because he apparently just couldn't not, eyes narrowing a little and his hand catching hers. "Late enough as it is."

"You said you'd take care of me," she whispered, feeling the different textures of him: the cool skip of his zipper under her fingers, smooth leather, soft worn cotton, and then underneath that the warmth of his skin with her palm flat on his stomach.

"Beth." Just her name, but when he said it like this there was a weight to it that she felt everywhere.

"Daryl." She could feel the ways he wanted her, the strength of it under his skin, and this time when she pulled him down to kiss him he kissed her back. It wasn't just that way for long, and she didn't want it to be; she was hitting all the buttons she could think of, all the ones she'd learned, her hands on his chest and then up to pull at the hair at the nape of his neck, her hips moving in a grinding little circle to tease him against her.

He pressed until she was sitting against the curve of metal over the tire, back pressed against the fuel door and the plastic window crinkling as she fell into it, and she was just at the right height that he could push himself into her open thighs, and they _fit_. She could feel him, not hard but getting there, just waiting and curved into her, and this was one of the first times she felt him taking instead of giving. Not her setting this rhythm his hips were starting to give her, one hand on the side of her knee to keep them both level against each other, another at the side of her neck with his thumb under her jaw to tilt her to him.

He moved to her neck, her jaw, under her chin, tasting her everywhere, and he was messy and he was rough on her skin but she couldn't imagine it any other way. She felt his hair under her fingers, his palms pushing under her cardigan and then dipping into the V of her dress so her breast was under his touch. But he didn't linger there, reaching up under her knee to lock her leg up higher, stroking back and forth along the skin there, pressing into the dips of muscles strained tight at the crevice of her thigh. Everything was falling languid, and as soon as his hand left her leg she could feel it fall back down, feeling like she was melting into his heat and his kisses across her shoulder, tearing her cardigan down so he could feel her skin.

He felt demanding against her mouth, tongue and teeth and taste, smoke slick in his hair and on his lips and now on hers, his hand fixing her fallen thigh and then making its way up her skin, setting off shocks of tremors that made her clench against him. And then just one kiss pressed against her forehead, wet as his fingers slid past her underwear to find her. She whimpered for a long second before she caught it, pulling herself back to some semblance of controlled, but he was sliding against her with his knuckle edging her more open and he was hard against her leg and she thought she was close to hyperventilating with how stubbornly her breaths were refusing her. His head nodded forward so he could look down between them, at her dress wrinkled up against her hips and his fingers hidden from view. She looked, too, at him, at his arms and his collarbone and the edge of his jaw, feeling herself relax and tense in waves of preparation as his thumb circled hard around her.

There was so much open air around them, swallowing them both whole even as the entire world seemed to expand. There was nothing, nothing but him and his breath on her neck and her car keeping her upright, but there was also everything, their peach tree to her left and the open road just over his shoulder when she could bring herself to focus, leaves stirring and stars blinking and wind that touched gently on them both as he eased heavy hunger all over her bones.

Her breath caught when he hooked her underwear to the side, air even cooler where she was already spread and hot, his fingers drawing up big and relentless against her. Everything about him was big, overwhelming and encompassing, and she thought about how dangerous he was and how dangerous she knew he could be and then about how he was a totally different type of dangerous now. He had his fingertip pressed against her, hesitating until she jerked her hips forward and pulled down insistently on his shoulder. She did stop breathing, then, as he slipped gently inside of her, except it wasn't gentle at all because just his finger felt so thick, his voice hollowing out into something of a laugh as she flexed experimentally against him.

"Do that again," he said, voice nearly pained and barely more than a whisper, but she did as he asked, feeling herself tighten a hold on his finger inside of her as his arm bent and his shoulder ducked to give her more. Her head fell back against the car, her leg hitching higher and wider, and he gave her something that was halfway between a smile and a wince before he was pushing into her again.

And then.

Ringing.

Generic tune and vibrations coming from her cardigan pocket. Her phone, loud and persistent and out of place.

They both froze, completely and suddenly, her skin sliding against him as they both realized what was going on. He let out a breath that was loud enough to verge into the territory of a growl, making her close her eyes and feel along her side for her pocket. But his hand caught hers, gentle, thumb and finger encircling her wrist.

"Don't answer," he said, still right up against her neck, fingers stopped against her.

She didn't even hesitate before she was nodding, eagerly, feeling it on her thigh but feeling him more, squirming for more of what he'd been giving her.

"Good," he breathed, and he was smiling and he sounded like he was just so pleased with her, and the phone finally went silent in time for her to snap her hips into him, her toes scraping along the dirt as he held her higher. And then he was sliding back into her, fingertip then knuckle and then enough that he could crook his finger against her walls, palm grinding hard up to meet her. She could feel him, feel him everywhere but mainly so thick inside of her. She reached for him, his shirt, his neck, his hair and then finally his arm, thumb running along that vein she loved. She thought of other veins in other places, thought of his hands on her pulling her down bare against him in his bed as he rutted up into her, him coming in her hand and sticky on her stomach.

She let these memories hit her left and right as his hand worked, because every time they touched like this it wasn't like a singular experience; it was him, every time and everywhere, all the traces of himself he'd given her.

"Tell me," he said, his cheek hot and abrasive on hers.

But then that phone. Ringing. Again. Somehow louder than before. His whole chest fell, his fingers coming to a safer rest on the outside of her thigh, squeezing her there before nodding.

She had to check this time. She looked at him apologetically, reaching into her pocket, grasping with clammy fingers. _Maggie_. She answered it, holding the phone up to her ear, wiping her hair back and swallowing before speaking. "Hello?"

"Where are you?" she asked, not angry. So she had that going for her, at least.

She rested her hand at the side of his head, brushing through his hair in what she hoped was something soothing, feeling his efforts as he tried to calm down. She was struggling on that same boat. "I'm just - I got held up, I'm comin'."

"Do you need help?" she asked. "Shawn's here, he's got the truck if there's more stuff-"

She was shaking her head even though she couldn't see, outlining his jaw, his cheekbone, his lips as he turned into her touch. "No, don't - I'm fine. I'm comin', I'll leave soon. Just sayin' goodbye."

She wondered if she was imagining the thickness of the silence. Maggie was intuitive and she was smart, but she didn't think her sister could sense when a boy was touching her just over the phone. "Alright. Text me when you leave."

She hung up, putting the phone back in her pocket, replacing her hand on his shoulder. "It was Maggie," she told him needlessly.

"I heard," he answered, and shook his head. "Time to go."

She nodded, feeling like crying as he picked his hand off her thigh to let her dress slide back around her legs. He pushed into her so his the broadness of his shoulders was all she could see, his fingers pulling at her cardigan and nudging around her waist, and she tilted her head up. But instead of kissing her, she felt the flat of his hand came down hard enough on the car frame next to her that the whole thing shuddered, his fingers curling loosely over the metal as his head came to a rest at her chest, breaths falling hot like caresses on her skin. "I'm sorry," she said, and she meant it.

"Don't," he said. "Ain't mad. Just-"

"I know." She did. She knew. Because if they were getting interrupted now, when she hadn't actually gone anywhere -

Yeah. This might get more complicated than she'd thought.

**I know it seems like I'm being mean but this is more to help myself than to torture you guys. The more worked up I get them and you and myself the easier it'll be to do some other things. Also… just setting expectations for how things might could be now that she's going home. mwu ha ha haaa. **


	28. Chapter 28

**So I appear to have worried some people/rustled some feathers? Guys. Shh. Don't worry. I did not do this to turn it into a riveting tale of Beth choosing between her family and Daryl. The smut will not stop. If you've read anything else of mine you'll know that before this story I never went more than two chapters without smut. I'm here to write the smut just as much as you're here to read it. Just. Trust me. I love angst but if you're worried about this becoming a story of them drifting, or becoming less about them and more about what her family thinks of them, don't be. The last twenty something chapters have been Beth being in his world. I just thought it was time to bring him more solidly into hers. **

He did have to work that weekend. So did she. He'd had his doubts that she would actually keep up with this whole bar scene - he had a feeling it was something that wouldn't sit too well with her family, now that she was solidly back - but for now she was doing it and that gave him the opportunity to keep up with the routine they'd established before all of this, even if now it felt sort of like pretend. But he'd shown up to the bar early like he normally did, waiting on one of the picnic tables on the porch for her to meet him.

When she showed up there was something different. It was the clothes, he realized, as she waved and made her way over. He didn't recognize them. She'd had a couple jeans on rotation that he'd noticed, dresses he knew by the color and the way they fell on and around her, but this was a different shirt and different pants, and she'd traded out her cuff for some stacked bracelets. Right. Because she was home now. Maybe had a whole new closet of things he hadn't seen. Might have to get used to seeing her different.

He offered her a cigarette when she came up to where he was sitting, but she shook her head, not even speaking before she was bending over to him, one hand on his shoulder and the other in the hair behind his ear so she could kiss him hard enough to knock him back against the table. The cigarette fell from his fingers, her purse dropping to the ground as her knee came to bear her weight next to his leg. His hands skirted around her thigh, then the line of her boots against her calf, and if he'd been given a chance to forget about how they'd had to keep leaving things he remembered it now.

She was hungry for it.

So was he.

But then she was gone, pulling up straight enough to look down at him. "Hi."

He couldn't think of anything to say, everything suddenly wildly out of reach as just her hands brought his whole system to a standstill. He only nodded, flicking off the cigarette from the bench while she sat next to him.

"Got a few minutes before I need to be in there," she said, and he could sense her breath coming harder, too. It was the beginning of the night, so no one would be there for a while, and he was seriously considering pulling her back onto his lap so he could watch her get herself off like he had in the car. Something unbelievably fucking appealing about being that for her. He was happy just to be part of the process.

He settled instead for backing his knuckles up against the side of her knee, thumb stroking back and forth as he tried to think of what to say. She smelled different, too, a different wash. More vanilla than floral. He wondered what else had changed. "How's… you know."

"Home?" she asked, and he nodded. "It's… Different. But the same. Which makes it weirder." She paused, frowning a little. "That probably sounds stupid."

It didn't. "I get it."

The frown flipped gracefully back into a smile, wide enough that it fit her whole face, skin glowing with it, and he thought that maybe sometimes when she did this it was more for his benefit than hers. Not hiding anything. She didn't see the need.

"Where they think you are?"

Her shoulders slumped a few inches at the question. Still a bit awkward to address this. Not as intense, but undeniably there staring him in the face, and he felt that strand of pressing darkness that had made itself known to them both that night weave tighter. He wished he could not say anything, wished that he could let himself sit with her without going back to the why's and how's that had been fucking him up since the beginning, but he thought of her at home and all the varying walls of _unreachable_ that she could pass through easily but that he'd have to scale and he couldn't not think about it. Couldn't find the off switch or even the room it was located in.

"Out," she said.

That sounded good. "Convincin'."

"I can be convincin'," she said, nudging against him. "If I wanna be."

"Sure," he said, and she turned enough that she could look at him.

"You think I don't know how to lie?" she asked him, practically winking.

He should've been surprised, because he knew her face pretty well by now and it most definitely didn't look capable of lying. But he wasn't. Of course she could lie. Youngest daughter, eyes as big as they were, and she'd told him some about the parties she'd been to and she'd taken him to that bar, so yeah. He could believe that she knew how to play with the truth. "What'd you tell 'em?"

She shrugged a little, innocent like she didn't even have to think about it. "I didn't really tell 'em anythin', actually. I just said I was goin' out and that I was workin' and I wouldn't be back til late." She smiled quietly like she was thinking of something else. "I used to hate bein' the youngest, you know. Maggie and Shawn got to do what they wanted and it felt like all Daddy would do was tell me no."

He didn't believe for a second that being told no had even made an impact if she wanted something. He'd been constructing, somewhere in the back of his head, whenever she laid more details into place for him, what it might've looked like for her. How she could've grown, what things had to happen to get her here so comfortably beside him. "Guessin' that didn't make much difference."

She laughed. "Sometimes. You were right at the beginning. Maggie was always the more rebellious one." She paused, stretching her legs out in front of them, heels skipping in thuds over the planks. "They didn't tell Mama I was workin' here," she admitted, looking up at the bar, the blue and red of the open sign mixing purple on her skin. "So that might be messy."

"What does she think, then?" he asked, kind of curious as to how she had made this play out for her.

She rolled her lips in between her teeth, finally looking almost guilty. "Pretty sure she thinks I'm workin' where Shawn used to."

"Sure that won't backfire," he said, only half kidding, but what the fuck did he know about any of this?

"We'll see. One thing at a time." She checked her phone for the time, leaning forward to get a glance through the window before switching back closer to him. "Bet you could help me think of somethin'," she said, knocking playfully into him again.

He let his arm fall behind her back. "Wouldn't be any good at it."

"You would," she corrected like there wasn't any room for arguing. "You've got poker face like crazy."

"Never really had to lie much," he said. "No one ever gave a fuck if I was goin' where I said I was."

She eyed him like she was looking for more, then reached over and squeezed his knee before standing up. He followed suit when she reached for him, letting her settle a grip onto his elbow, hooking her hand loosely around his arm as she lead them both back more hidden around the corner.

She turned to lean her forehead against his arm for a second, pressing in a kiss he couldn't feel. "I was thinkin'."

He was really coming to dread those words from her.

She took a deep breath before she started, speaking fast. "I met your brother. Sorta. I thought maybe-"

He interrupted her with a shake of his head, predicting the end of the sentence and not even wanting to hear it. "No." Fuck no.

She looked at him sternly, her fingers digging in a little. "You didn't even let me finish."

"Already know what you're gonna say." He wasn't doing this. That she was asking at all was pushing even her borders of possibilities.

"What, then?" she asked, not annoyed but she also wasn't dropping it. "What was I going to say?"

"Ain't meetin' your sister, girl." He wouldn't drop it either. He'd do a lot of things - had done a lot of things - would wait at the bar, would be her plus one wherever she deemed she wanted him, but he wasn't going there. She'd told him he could come with her but he wouldn't like this. "Or brother. Or anyone."

"You didn't even think about it," she said, hitting different notes of pleading.

Maybe he should've thought about it, should've predicted this as something she would want, but why would he? Why would she? "Don't have to."

She sighed. "Why are you so sure that-"

He cocked his head towards her pointedly enough that she stopped. She didn't need him to list the reasons. He didn't know why she would make him.

"Okay. I just -" She started then stopped, more apologetic but just as strong. "I feel like you don't think you can. But you could."

"Could what?" he asked, feeling her words building towards something possibly even more unmanageable.

She pursed her lips, fingers drumming along his arm. "They wouldn't hate you."

"I would."

He hadn't even meant it as anything more than a passing comment, but she looked at him sharply. "Don't say things like that."

He stared at her before shrugging. More often than not that was the only response he felt he could give her.

She sighed again, shoulders setting, her free hand reaching out to trace along the lines of brick. "You know I told you my family's big on church?"

He nodded, looking down at his feet, feeling like listening to her and looking at her at the same time was too much right now.

"Bein' nice to strangers is kind of a big part of that," she explained, nails skipping over the wall when she curled her fingers into it. "They wouldn't hate you. If I told 'em I'd invited someone to dinner and you showed up they wouldn't kick you out."

He almost laughed just at the idea of it. "Might if they knew what we were doin'."

"They don't, though." She still wasn't dropping it. They'd reached the other end of the porch, and she released his arm to lean over it, stepping up onto the bottom railing so she could get her face out to feel the breeze. "We've taken people in before. Remember a few years ago there was that storm?"

Storm was probably too generous a term. There had been rain, then sleet and hail, and then actual snow while the rain froze on the streets overnight sending the whole damn state into chaos. He and Merle had sat back inside, drinking beer and watching the news stories unravel of wholesome worried mothers clearing the grocery stores of milk and bread. Everything had been out of commission for a solid few days, and the ice had been bad enough that when he'd made the fool decision to try and ride somewhere his tires had skidded and he'd ended up flat on his ass in the frozen grass. She probably would've been… thirteen? Fourteen? Christ. "Yeah."

"We took some people in then when power went out since we had wood burnin' fireplaces," she explained. "Had 'em up in the barn and spare rooms. Different people comin' in and out for days. All sorts."

He didn't see what this had to do with him. "Ain't homeless. Don't need no charity."

"That's not what I'm sayin'," she said, growing a tinge more frustrated as she turned her back into the rail, crossing her arms, her perch leaving her above eye level. "I'm sayin' they wouldn't think badly of you for the reasons you think. Might could brush your hair, but…" She trailed off, lifting a shoulder and smiling gently.

Brush his hair. _Sunday best_. "Too old for this."

"You're not old," she said, tilting her head like she was examining him. "I dunno what you are."

"Old," he scoffed. So old, old standing here, old next to her, old hands she was pulling on with hers so she could get him close enough to balance against him with fingers on his shoulders.

"Just think about it. Maybe."

He really didn't even think he could. Not even with her looking at him like she was. "Maybe."

"Good," she said, closing those last few inches to peck the corner of his mouth before hopping down. "Then let's go."

* * *

The first part of the night was fine. Nothing too out of the ordinary. He was vaguely wondering if something had changed; there were a few guys here that he could recognize just due to the familiarity of being here so often, and one or two of them looked at him like they were annoyed he was here. One even picked up and left the bar to go sit at a table instead when he sat down. He might have to ask her about that later. But other than that it was normal.

Until. Because there always had to be an _until. Until_ the car door slammed, _until_ the phone rang. This time it happened just as Beth'd come over to check in on him after making her rounds, the door opening and bell clanging, and before he'd even had a chance to turn and see she was shaking her head at him to stop him, her eyes widening in surprise.

She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Don't do anythin' weird," she murmured, directed at him before she was moving away to walk out from behind the bar. He finally got to turn a little and see not one but two new arrivals, only half of whom he recognized, but that was enough to make him suddenly very aware that this whole night had taken a turn.

It was the sister, Maggie, he thought, and a boy that he didn't think he'd seen before, except maybe -

"Shawn?" Beth asked, coming up to him and not hesitating to throw her arms around his neck.

He picked her up in bear hug that lifted her to the toes of her feet, and the camaraderie was obvious. They were close. He didn't think he'd ever have been able to pick them as related based on looks alone, but he would've known just from this that it was her brother. Her legs kicked up as he shook her, long enough that they'd drawn the attention of everyone else so he didn't feel out of place taking his fill.

She looked happy. Like she had after that weekend she'd left, but even more now, her whole face pink and smiling and lifted and this. This was why. He hadn't understood and he still didn't really think he did or even could, but looking at her it was easy to see that she'd been missing something and also, now, that she'd found it.

It actually looked kind of nice, watching her get set back down. Nice enough that he felt warmth spreading just looking at her, starting in his stomach and spreading outwards in a shade that was distinctly her own.

Except for then his gaze shifted a little more over to find the sister had already sussed him out, eyes narrowing. Not angry. Maybe not even cold. But she recognized him enough to stare, eyes coming back to him as Beth spoke.

"What are you doin' here?" she was asking, and listening to her he couldn't tell at all that she was even the slightest bit concerned about having them all in the same place.

"Had to see you in action. Just hearin' didn't do it justice," Shawn said, looking around. He looked young, a little scrawny, baseball cap with the bill curled from what looked like years of being held, shoulders broad enough for him to be a little formidable if he grew into it.

There were so many things he was feeling here, enough that he had no idea how to single one out to act on, made worse by the fact that every one of them was covered in undeniable fight or flight. Fighting wasn't an option here, but could he actually go with flight? Just up and leave? But he also wanted to see this, to see more of this sister - Maggie, he was going to have to start using her name - that had asked him to bring Beth home, more of this brother that Beth had told him he reminded her of. Wanted to see how they reconciled Beth's presence here, or if it looked as weird to them as it had to him at the beginning.

So he'd stay. His leg started bouncing with the decision, and he wished he could pull out a cigarette, shroud himself in smoke so that Maggie wouldn't be able to throw anymore looks his way.

"Beth," called the other girl who was working, carrying out an armful of drinks to a table. "Could use some help."

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry," she said, looking back at the bar where a couple more people had sat down and then, a little more hurried, for a place she could set them up. "You guys just…"

But they ended up picking seats on their own, at the bar pretty much directly across from him. He couldn't tell if it was on purpose or not. He had no idea what to expect. None. He was, as he so often felt with her, completely out of his depth. All he could do was sit and wait, watching as best he could.

"So what're you doin' here?" Beth asked once she'd made her way back, pulling out a couple new cups as she half listened to the new orders coming in, and he could still hear that happiness but there was something else there, too. Skepticism, maybe.

"Told you," Maggie said, picking up her brother's straw and ripping at the paper. "Seein' is believin'."

"Yeah. But you've known I've been here," she said, looking back and forth between the two of them. "I mean, I'm happy, but… why now?"

"Just seemed time." Shawn this time. He was sure now that Beth had been right in her telling him that her sister hadn't spread along what she knew, because he didn't seem to be even faintly aware of his existence.

Beth popped her hip so she could put her hand on it, voice purposefully steely like she was testing him. "What'd you tell Mama?"

"The truth," Maggie answered. "We're visitin' you at work."

"Okay," Beth said slowly, and he could actually see it as she steadied herself, her shoulders straightening out and her neck lengthening as she pushed herself to her full height. "But I have to actually work. So if you're here to-"

"Not here to hassle you, Beth," Maggie interrupted, and Shawn nodded in agreement. But then she was looking past Beth, focusing on him for a sliver of a second before she was back to the conversation at hand. "Can't believe that you're actually still here, but..." she continued, and he didn't think he was imagining some double meaning there.

Five minutes in and he was already getting called out.

"Here to stay," Beth said, firmly enough that he thought she'd caught it, too.

He wasn't getting involved here. Stare down, at the bar surface, and yes, he could feasibly do this for the next hour or two, or maybe even for the rest of his goddamn life because he was not fucking moving. Solid wood under his fingers, oak or something or what the fuck did he even care? It could be laminate as long as it wasn't Maggie and wasn't Shawn and it wasn't Beth. Beer, bubbles, he could count those as they floated to the surface, could memorize this glass or his thumbprint outlined in the condensation, pretend he couldn't hear or see or had even noticed anything was out of place at all. All he could do was listen, and he did it intently, trying to hear over the music and odd muffled chatter.

"If that's what you want," she finally answered, and that sounded at least not so damning that he couldn't look at them anymore. So he sat up straighter, leaning with his elbows on the table so he could see around Beth's back to get a better look at this brother.

He seemed oblivious to whatever he had just been witness to, looking around the scene and sliding the beer Beth had given him back and forth between his palms. "Been a while since I've seen this place."

"When did you ever come here?" Beth asked, leaning over far enough that her shirt crept up over her jeans to bare the bottom knobs of her spine.

"Remember when Dad grounded me for that whole semester?" he answered, and Maggie started laughing.

"Oh, I remember this. That was here?" She hadn't gotten anything to drink, keeping her hands folded on the table, but she looked somewhat relaxed and happy now that she'd said her piece. His being here wasn't ruining everything for her, at least. She definitely had him outnumbered if nothing else.

"I thought that was 'cause you broke curfew?" Beth asked. He wished he could see her face. Her voice wasn't giving him nearly enough to work off of.

"Bit more to it than that," Maggie answered this time, smiling in a way that was familiar to him now. Genuine.

"Tell me!" Beth said, accompanying it with a little tap of her boot, covering Shawn's beer with her hand before he could take another drink. Yes. She was definitely the youngest.

"Buddies got me drunk in here for my birthday. Drunk enough that I convinced myself Mom and Dad wouldn't notice," he said, smiling at whatever expression Beth had given him.

"They did," Maggie added on needlessly. He could hear the southern in her more than he could in Beth, not delicate but strong.

"Wow," Beth said, trailing off, reaching around to pull her ponytail so it fell back in front of her shoulder. "I didn't… Didn't even guess."

She was upset. He could hear it, the flavor of her voice changed, and he looked up to try and assess the situation with more detail but looking at her back didn't give him much of anything to work with. This was weird. At some point this whole scene had shifted, and he was more outsider now than any of them were.

Beth moved to make another drink, and her face seemed to have smoothed over enough that it gave him a rest to breathe. What had she said that day in the car? Something about counting, patterns, but he couldn't remember the numbers she'd given him and holding his breath just made him feel a rush of light headedness.

Someone slid into the seat next to him, instantly irritating him and breaking what little concentration he'd managed to muster. Fucking _why_? Not like there wasn't a whole room full of places to sit the fuck down at that wouldn't interrupt him. He could see in the corner of his eye from her skirt that it was a woman, and he felt the panic that had been quietly simmering switch to a whole other level of survival, thinking that the sister had changed her mind and decided to make herself known to him. But a glance up told him she was where she had been at the other side of the bar, right next to the brother.

So who the fuck was this?

He didn't even bother to look to find out, too enthralled by trying both to listen to their conversation while simultaneously making himself as much part of the background as he could. For a few blissful seconds whoever it was didn't say anything and he thought he was going to be left alone, but then she swiveled her chair more in his direction, knee brushing momentarily against his leg.

"How's your drink?" she asked, her voice husky. A smoker.

His attention was still sealed elsewhere. Things seemed to be going alright. The brother was at least smiling now. "Shitty."

"What if I buy you a new one?"

He finally actually looked next to him to find her already closer than he was comfortable with, elbow resting on the bar and her face resting in her hand. Older than Beth, younger than him, but it wasn't like that was a hard mark to reach. Brunette instead of blonde, brown eyes instead of blue, but she was smiling at him and sitting too close and it might've been a while but he wasn't an idiot. He knew what she was doing.

So okay. This now, too. Why the fuck not.

He was out of practice, as if he had a lot to begin with. This had never been his thing. More when he was younger, because he'd spent years in a backwards trashy town full of backwards trashy people where the presence of religion made things looser rather than tighter and there hadn't been much else to do. But he'd grown out of that, and had learned how and when he could tell Merle and his buddies that he didn't feel like fucking some poor random girl just to prove he could. He shook his head. He'd seen Merle be a sleaze to plenty of girls. Didn't see a reason to jump straight to jackass. "I'm good."

"Good," she said, and instead of leaving she settled, shrugging off her jacket so it could fold off the back of her seat. Her nail beds looked alright, and there weren't any track marks that he could see, so that was something. That was always the type that went for him when he was with Merle. "That makes two of us."

"What're you doin'?" he asked, alarmed.

She smiled. "Sitting."

Now he was alarmed and annoyed. He didn't have time for this. "Why?"

"I'm waiting for a friend. The seat was open. I've seen you here before." She shrugged. "Those reasons good enough?"

He picked up his beer to let it slide out of his grip back to the table, trying to answer without actually having to say anything to her, but the clink of glass was loud enough to make Beth turn around along with both her siblings. Three pairs of eyes all on him.

She shot him a confused look before walking over to where he sat, looking at the woman next to him for a solid second before she'd slipped her attention back to him. "You need somethin'?"

Before he'd even had time to answer the brunette was pushing her now empty glass over to Beth before reaching into her wallet. "Just beer, please," she said, sliding a five over the table. "Whatever's on tap is fine."

He tried to shake his head as Beth looked at him, just the tiniest movement to give her some sort of signal that he was, literally, right now, dying, each cell individually lighting itself on fire inside of him, but he didn't think she could see.

"No problem," she said, taking the money and turning back around.

It was just in time for him to look past her to see Maggie leaning over and whispering something in Shawn's ear that made him smile. They at least seemed to be back to looking at Beth, who was moving a little more nervously with them watching. Also a little angrily, unless he was reading her wrong. There was a set to her shoulders, her jaw tight and her smile even tighter when she came back over to them to give his new bar buddy her drink.

She angled to him, wiping her hands off on her jeans. "You good?"

Definitely, at the least, she was tense, but also almost smiling like she thought something was funny. He'd love for her to fill him in on the joke. As far as he was concerned the whole thing was a goddamn mess. "Yeah. Great."

"Great. Let me know if you need anythin'," she said, smiling at him but then absolutely radiating at the woman next to him before walking back to her sister.

"Cheers," came the same husky voice, and before he could do anything she was clinking her glass against his. "What should we cheers to?"

"M'busy," he said, and he'd been nice until now but looking at Beth and her shoulder blades cutting through her shirt to make a cradle for the golden swish of her hair he allowed his voice to go flat and cold.

"Busy," she said, crossing her legs, and he looked at her in time to see something click for her as she followed his track of vision. "Did I step in something here?" she asked, looking from him to Beth in a way he didn't like at all. "That's… Interesting. Very interesting."

"Didn't step in shit," he said. Could he leave without drawing more attention to himself? Without saying anything to Beth? Without this woman following him? She didn't seem like she would be a problem, more just curiosity and giving him a hard time, but still. Unpredictable. He wasn't a fan of any of these odds.

"She's pretty," she went on as if he hadn't spoken, leaning closer like they were sharing a secret. "Kinda young, but…"

He didn't say anything. Caught between a rock and a hard place, except both were closing in and he had no way out but down. He could deal with one at a time, could've brushed off the rare girl needing someone to take her home, could've made himself disappear if it was just the bar with two extra Greenes, but both?

And Maggie. She was looking again. Definitely seeing something she didn't like. The last time he'd been here, maybe even in this fucking seat, she'd been looking at him like this and he'd been thinking _not like that_. Maybe that had turned out to be the biggest line of bullshit he could've come up with, but now it felt exactly the same. _Not like that_. This was not like that. He hadn't fucking asked her to sit down, hadn't asked them to come, and couldn't they see that if anyone was the victim here it was him?

He just needed some slack. From somewhere. Something had to give.

But now Beth was looking at him again, too. Not just looking at him, but _looking _at him, eyes flicking back and forth and something like a smile playing around her mouth before a seemingly pointed call for attention from Maggie made her turn her back to him. But even that didn't stop her looking back, over her shoulder, up and down at him instead of back and forth, and suddenly he thought he might be kind of getting what was going on here.

This had never fucking happened to him before in his entire fucking life.

"Interesting," Husky repeated, more slowly this time, looking at him slyly from the corner of her eye. "She's not happy."

No. She wasn't.

He didn't even have the vaguest clue on what the fuck he was supposed to do about it.

**Ya know, I was writing this chapter and I was like, Hm. Which should I do first, the siblings or the jealous Beth? and then I thought… fuck it, why not both? Plus: Will finally get some smut payoff next chapter, and additionally I will be doing all that I can to get ISF updated by then, too. It will be great, trust me. Sorry for the cliffhanger (I'm not sorry ever). **

**p.s: Maggie is not a villain nor am I making her one. I have a younger and an older sister… I'm just keeping it real.**


	29. Chapter 29

**side note AN in which I am going to try and not sound terribly needy, even though I am, in fact, the Neediest Person on Earth: if all of a sudden there's a drop in what I hear from y'all, it gets a lot harder to keep up with what I'm trying to do motivation wise. In other words, because I haven't said it in a few chapters: seriously it sounds tacky but reading reviews and getting those alerts are a large part of what make this fun for me. So thank you and insert an appropriate number of heart emojis here. **

Daryl decided it was easier to wait outside. Why not? Not like there was any point in pretending he could hide, now, and at least outdoors he wouldn't have to deal with whatever the fuck inexplicable looks he and Beth had been passing back and forth the past ten minutes. He'd been basically chain smoking since he'd gotten out here. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been stressed enough to go through more than a pack in a single day, but at the rate he was going it seemed likely.

The clinging of the bell alerted him to someone coming outside. He didn't pay it any attention except to turn his back towards the noise, not even wanting to look at another person until he was sure it would be Beth, but the footsteps clacked closer until it was Husky herself standing next to him at the porch. He didn't acknowledge her at all, seeing her in his peripherals as she brought out her purse. She fished around in it for a couple seconds until she was pulling out a box of smokes, then dug around a couple seconds more before patting down her jacket pockets and sighing.

"Got a lighter?" she asked him.

He exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Nope," he answered, pointedly taking another drag while she looked on. It was a dick move. He didn't care. He really didn't fucking care.

She snorted, tapping the cigarette back into the box. "Dude, this isn't any of my business but - you're so fucked."

It really wasn't. "Didn't ask," he said. He hadn't, and she hadn't exactly done anything wrong except for throw a potentially serious wrench into his night, but he didn't give a shit The only person he felt any need to be even vaguely polite to right now was still inside.

He could see her raise her eyebrows. "It's alright. I got the message. I'm just waiting on a ride," she said, putting her hands into the pockets of her dress. She frowned, digging deeper before pulling out the missing lighter with a satisfied smile. "Do you mind if I smoke out here?"

He shrugged. "Free country."

"Charming," she said, lighting up and looking at him curiously. "Can I ask you a question?" she asked, tapping the ash off.

He shrugged again. He didn't see there was much a way to stop her.

"Was I at least right?" she asked, smiling more broadly.

He sighed. "Does it matter?"

"I guess not," she said slowly. "I'm just nosy."

He didn't answer her, turning around to look through the barred side window. He could see Beth, barely, a whoosh of blonde hair and smiles.

"Shit," she said, and when he looked she was following his eyes again. "You're not even discrete about it, are you?"

He shrugged yet again, more exasperated than anything else. What the fuck was he supposed to do, here?

"It's alright," she said. "Definitely don't have to explain yourself to me." She shrugged, flicking her cigarette out towards the grass. "If it helps she was looking at you as much as you were looking at her. Both of you are fucked if it's supposed to be a secret."

That didn't help. At all. But it was almost a relief, hearing it acknowledged by someone else without all the accompanying bullshit he was coming to expect.

The door opened again, and he found himself twisting around again to make sure Beth was still safely inside, relieved when he found her still behind the bar. Not that it would be bad, he didn't think. Just a situation he'd rather avoid, much like everything else that had happened tonight.

The move didn't go unnoticed. "Relax," she said, picking up her purse and putting it back on her shoulder. She pointed over to a car that had just pulled up. "The ride is here. Your girlfriend won't have to kill me with kindness."

Kill her with kindness. That would probably be exactly her method of choice, unrelenting and staggering. He turned away as she walked off, closing his eyes once he'd seen her wave goodbye. One problem dealt with, and hopefully no more to go. He hadn't brought his phone and couldn't check the time, so he started counting the songs. Listening to the quiet bass through the walls, at least trying to start pacing the cigarettes. Her shift had to be over soon. There were only so many hours in a night to make him feel miserable, and they had to at least be running low.

He counted close to twenty songs before people started filing out more reliably, a couple taxis coming by to pick up the drunker ones. He watched from the end of the porch, mostly in darkness, waiting for the coast to be clear. He wasn't even sure if this was going to work, or how her family was going to play into this. With how this had been going for him they were probably planning on taking her home, too.

But he knew a couple seconds later that they weren't, the door opening for both Maggie and Shawn to come through. She wasn't looking for him and didn't see him sitting over in the corner like a creep, and he allowed himself to relax as they both walked past him out into the lot.

"I thought she'd quit," Maggie was saying, swinging her keys around her finger.

"Dad would hate it," Shawn answered, louder than he had been inside. Drunk, maybe.

"He'd more than hate it. He'd be rollin' in his grave," she said, just loud enough for him to hear before they were both getting into the only other truck still parked.

He couldn't help but think that this wasn't the only thing he would hate, this man he'd never met but who'd had such a presence anyways. But there was exactly nothing he could do about that, at least nothing past what he'd already tried and what she'd already made clear she wouldn't accept. Which left him with nothing to do but wait even longer, hooking back around the corner where she'd lead him earlier just so he wouldn't risk running into anybody else, lighting up one of the last of his cigarettes.

She found him easily enough a few minutes after the lights inside clicked off, saying her goodbyes and then her boots clicking across the wood as she rounded the corner, following the smoke. She didn't say anything this time. No kiss hello. Just meandering over in his direction, stopping when she was standing in front of him. He didn't know if that was a sign of something.

"You been waitin' long?" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear.

She knew exactly how long he'd been waiting, but he shook his head anyways, shrugging. She looked down at the sea of cigarette butts, brushing them to the side with her foot. "I'm sorry," she said. "They didn't tell me they were comin'."

"S'alright." It wasn't, but what other choice did he have?

"They were just checkin' on me. Shawn is just protective. Even more since Daddy…" She trailed off, shrugging up at him.

"It's fine," he said. He guessed he couldn't blame them, but that was the most annoying part of it. If anybody was doing something wrong here it was him.

She gave him a little smile, reaching to grab hold of the zipper of his jacket, playing with it between her fingers. "You did good. Even with -"

He cut her off. "Don't really wanna talk about it."

"Talk about what?" she asked, innocently but also not. Always managing to strike some weird sort of balance there.

He wouldn't be surprised if they'd both walked out of there tonight with two unrecognizably different stories of what had happened, but he didn't want to compare notes right now. He especially wasn't interested in whatever summation seemed to be coming. "What that was."

She frowned. "I didn't think it was so bad."

He just looked at her before shaking his head. Naive wasn't the word here, but he couldn't find something better. Misplaced, relentless optimism, and he didn't know how to tell her she shouldn't have any when it came to this.

"C'mon, I know it wasn't -" She started, but then changed course when she looked at him. "I didn't plan it or anythin'."

"I know." That wasn't what he'd been trying to say. He hadn't thought she'd lead him into the lion's den. "Didn't seem too phased, though."

"I wasn't, I guess." She wasn't apologizing, and he guessed she didn't have to.

But he kind of wanted to hear her say it. Hear her tell him he was right, that he really should be staying far, far the fuck away from her sister and her family in general, that it was likely to be a fucking mess and that if this had been a taste of what to come she wasn't too interested in sitting down for the whole meal.

But she didn't say those things, instead squaring off to him and crossing her arms. "So."

He shrugged, back against the wall, pulling out another cigarette. One left. "So."

She cocked her head, that same half not-quite-smile coming onto her face from the bar. "Who was she?"

He knew who she was talking about, but he decided to play like he didn't. "She?" He didn't even know her name, and when he thought back on tonight she would be far, far down the list of what he remembered.

"The woman that was next to you," she went on, stepping up closer so her toes bumped up against his.

"Dunno." He didn't. He didn't know what this conversation was. He had zero experience here, not just untreaded territory but also like he was blindfolded first, shoved out into darkness. He couldn't get a read on her at all, and he didn't like this feeling like he was sitting outside of the joke.

"Looked like she knew you," she said, and she must've been feeling bold because she reached up and took his cigarette.

He was tired. Not in the mood. He rolled his neck, not looking at her. "We gotta do this?"

"No," she said more seriously, part of the facade dropping. It was a joke, then. "It's fine. I'm fine."

"Okay." He took a deep breath, head landing back against the brick so he could look down at her as she frowned.

But then she shrugged, the smile back, and she lifted up the stolen cigarette to take a drag, reigniting the nearly dead flame with a bright orange glow. She didn't take it very smoothly, not breathing it in but holding the smoke in her mouth until she could exhale it twice as thick, tongue rolling out to taste her what it left on her lips. "I just thought it was funny. Seein' you like that."

He hadn't been lying when he said he wasn't in the mood for this, whatever this was, but he could appreciate what was happening here. Could maybe appreciate the possibility that this wasn't entirely about him. "Like what?"

"Squirmin'." She grinned, reaching past him to crumple the cigarette on the wall at his side.

He didn't answer, but he didn't have to, watching her as she brought gentle hands up to his stomach, slipping a finger past the space between the buttons.

"Does that happen a lot?" she asked, looking up at him.

"What?" There was more happening here that he still didn't feel like he was completely getting, edging around whatever it was as she let her legs come flush up against his.

"People comin' up to you like that. Girls." The smile again, an eyebrow flicking up. "Women."

"Stop," he muttered, closing his eyes for a second before letting one of his hands find her wrist, curling over the bracelets to hold her to him.

"I'm serious," she said, tugging on his shirt so he was looking at her again.

"So am I." He was. This wasn't anywhere near level playing ground.

But she stared back, a blue eyed blonde haired wall of sudden silence while more fingers pushed past his buttons to stroke against his stomach. He matched her for as long as he could, dropping his hands back to his side and standing up a little straighter just to gain that extra inch on her, but she didn't break and he was cornered and she knew.

Fine. "What do you think?"

"Well, I came up to you," she said, her other hand coming up to his hip, sliding under his vest.

"Not like that." He was going to have to come up with a new turn of words, here, because even in his own head it was getting repetitive.

"It was for me," she corrected, and pushed herself up even more, weight swinging to her toes on top of his so her hips came flush with his, her hand at his side gripping tighter to hold her there.

Careful, girl. But she wasn't trying to be careful, full of recklessness that was beautifully apparent when she touched him like this. "Was what?"

She was teasing, now, he was sure of it, shoulders lifting. "Like that."

"Stop," he said again, hands still hanging heavy at his side.

She paused. "Why?" she asked, looking genuinely confused.

"Just stop." He didn't even know why. Just knew that sometimes this - she - was too much for him to process. Hand on his side, legs on his, hips to hips, vanilla on her skin and he felt like he was treading on some sort of line when he didn't even know who'd drawn it there

"Why?" she repeated, more gentle now, falling more against him, his toes falling asleep from where she was cutting off circulation.

"Beth." Please. She'd told him that he couldn't shut down, but that wasn't even what he was trying to do. He wasn't trying to do anything.

"Daryl." Louder than him. Stronger, too, and she turned her face into his arm, lips pressing gently while the fingers on one of her hands twined with his to pull his arm taut. Then not as gentle, her jaw slipping wider, and he could feel her teeth edging up against his skin. Not biting, but there. Threatening, almost, like way back at the beginning when she'd had her hands on him and she'd felt nothing short of predatory.

She had him.

Her hands drew down either of his arms, fingers gentle but leaving blazing trails of ticklish heat. She paused once she'd reached his wrists, fingers back between his, pressing a kiss near his shoulder. "I can stop."

He shook his head, closing his eyes to try and gather what little strength she wasn't siphoning out of him. "Don't." He felt her smile, one hand dropping his to duck under his shirt, tips of her fingers dancing on the skin above his waistband. "You don't need to be -"

"Be what?" She'd moved onto his neck, thigh coming up to press between his hips.

"This." Proving something, maybe, to herself or to him or to whatever purpose this was serving. She was either ignoring him or didn't care, though, because her hand dropped to cup him, her head centering under his chin, and his next words came out hard and choked. "Whatever you're bein'."

"I'm not bein' anythin'," she said, fingers moving to knead over him, following his hips when they rolled. "You know what I was thinkin'?"

He almost laughed but it turned into a grunt, hand squeezing around hers. "Gettin' some idea."

"I was thinkin' that it was okay because I'd get to come out here with you," she said more quietly. His cock was rising to meet her where she palmed him, and he could hear her breathe more deeply when she felt it.

He didn't stop her. He didn't want to. The air was warm but she was warmer, moths clicking against the porch light, cicadas and crickets and the wood creaking below them as their weight shifted more into each other. He didn't think he realized until now how much he'd missed this. Missed her. He'd gone home these past couple days, aching with memories of almost, smelling her on his hand and feeling the imprints she'd left behind, but now she was actually here and even if she was teasing he'd take it.

She went blissfully quiet as she rubbed him hard enough to be sure he could feel her, steady and rhythmic as he steadily came undone under her touch. She took another deep breath, tilting her head up towards his ear. "I love doin' this. It makes me feel so good, Daryl, you don't even -"

Her voice was shaking, and her words hit him like a wave. He canted up into her hand, the dull pain of being restrained becoming much more apparent, suddenly extremely aware that he hadn't even been touched in what felt like weeks. "Beth-"

"I was sittin' in my bed at home the day after you came over and I couldn't stop thinkin' about you, what you said-" she went on, voice still tremoring, leaning more against him as he shivered into her, burning pleasure pounding down his spine. "I thought about you tellin' me that -" She cut off, swallowed, tried again, her hand squeezing harder, thigh coming up between his legs to catch his cock at an angle her hands hadn't. "About me gettin'-" Another stutter of words, more kisses and teeth against his jaw, breaths coming in stinging drags out of his lungs as he listened, lost to the sound of her voice as she forced it out. "About me gettin' wet and I-"

Nothing else. She'd given him practically nothing but it felt like everything, her words washing over him along with the memories that accompanied them, her hand keeping its ruthless touches and pulls, and before he even knew what was happening or had any way of stopping it he was coming. Everything surging, white hot heat behind his eyes and head thrown back only to be stopped by painful brick. He wasn't even sure if he was silent or not, blood rushing through his ears steadily enough to ring, giving it to her in waves.

He didn't even have a moment when he seemed to come down, everything fuzzy at the edges and all of him weak. She'd taken her hand away but given him none of the space that he couldn't even convey he needed, and when she spoke he could barely hear her at all above everything else.

"Did you - ?" she asked, and he couldn't even find the strength to confirm what she was asking.

To confirm that yes, God, he'd just come in his pants, and even standing here letting that realization layer over him in increasingly horrifying levels he was fairly sure that she hadn't even meant to.

He was falling. He was legless and he was boneless and he was falling, leather catching against the wall like velcro, and he was dimly aware of her hands and her voice but it was too late because he was already on the ground, shirt gathered up somewhere near the middle of his back. She came down soon after, on her knees between his legs, forcing herself into his vision. God, she was pretty, hyper focusing on her past the ringing in his ears, eyes so blue they were almost green, and he was nearly able to forget what had just happened.

Jesus.

He closed his eyes to block her out, hands finding the porch beneath him in an attempt to ground himself, escaped gravel from the yard digging sharply into his palms as he tried so, so, so desperately to ignore that he was sticky and wet and his buckle hadn't even come undone. He felt her come closer, the inevitable warmth before she touched him, hands on his shoulders and forehead touching against his. He didn't open his eyes, grateful at least that she seemed to be avoiding any space below his stomach.

"I never-" she said, fingers slipping behind his neck to weave into his hair, her other hand edging along his cheek. She kissed him once, twice, elbows falling hard onto his chest. "You're so good."

He didn't answer and he didn't open his eyes or even move. He didn't know if he'd ever move again. Just die here. Here was as good as any.

"Daryl." Stern. Chastising him. He couldn't believe he was supposed to be the older one, here. "Daryl, look at me."

It was near painful, letting his eyes sliver open to see her there, face in darkness as her head blocked out the corner lamp. He could see the flush on her cheeks, but couldn't separate that from the apparent concern in her eyes. He worked to keep any expression off his face. This had never happened to him before. Never even been something to be concerned about.

She bit her lip, thumb wiping over his eyebrow and then the top of his cheek, brushing his hair out of the way. "I liked it." He didn't answer, watching her eyes as they darted back and forth over his face, another blush coming up brighter than the first. "I like seein' you -" She paused, looking at his eyes. "Makin' you."

He didn't know what to do with that. He was finding it hard to believe her or even listen to her at all, literally reduced to the ground.

"I would've. In the car. If you'd've let me I would've, too," she said, still not quite brave enough to say exactly what she meant, stammering as she tried to find the phrasing. That was fucking cute. There wasn't another word for it.

And he got what she was saying. It wasn't the same - he couldn't really begin to try and explain the difference between her riding his fucking thigh like it was his fingers or maybe his cock and what had just happened - but he didn't know if it mattered. If he could let it matter. He reached up, brushing along her forearm all the way up to her bracelets that had slipped down from her wrist, his other hand going for the pack of cigs. It was his last but he didn't care, lighting it up, brushing her hair out of the way of the flame. He felt better once he had that hit of smokey nicotine, watching her sit back to make room for the smoke as her fingers stroked through the hair above his ear.

He offered it to her. He wasn't sure how he felt about dragging her into this habit, but he hadn't been there when she'd gone off and gotten her own. She shook her head, though, biting her lip as she watched him. "You're bein' quiet."

He took another deeper drag, enough to make his chest burn before he answered her. "Tired." She frowned, and he squeezed her wrist to draw her eyes back. "I'm good."

She let out a breath that felt like relief. "Good."

Yeah. They would be.

**when will they fuck? The world may never know (jk I'll get them there. Patience, young grasshoppers). **


	30. Chapter 30

**y'all are lucky this is the big chapter 30 (why is it big? idk. It's a round number? it's halfway to sixty? idk it felt Big) because otherwise it would be filled with some smolder. However, since it is and I've decided it's an event: have some (pretty gratuitous) smut. **

**in other news: holy fucking shit hello hi hello no idea where you all came from or where you've been but ahhhh. Ahhhhhhhh. Reading everybody's responses was amazing. Please feel free to pull up a chair and stick around awhile. Thank you times about a million (or about thirty, whatever floats your boat). **

He didn't see her for another week. She wasn't working until the next weekend and didn't feel like she could get away. And. Maybe, he thought. Maybe she didn't want to.

Probably that was in his head. But maybe. These were thoughts he couldn't see himself getting rid of.

Either way, he didn't much hear from her, and didn't really expect to until that Saturday. Which is why when his phone rang early that same morning, a couple hours before he was supposed to be up to do a job of his own, he was pretty sure something must've happened. It was her number lighting up his screen - it was always her, really - and he tried to swallow the tired away before he clicked to answer.

"What?" he asked, nothing close to alert, voice thick.

"Mornin'," she answered, chipper and awake and happy.

He looked towards his window, trying to make sure he hadn't misjudged the time somehow, but it was dark outside and when he checked he read 4:30 on the clock. "What?"

"I said mornin'," she said. She sounded like she was moving, breaths labored enough for him to hear. "Wake up."

Fuck. "Why?" he asked, sounding more than a little like he was complaining, but it was early and cold and as far as he could tell the world wasn't ending.

"'Cause it's mornin'," she said, and he could hear her smile even if he couldn't see it.

He closed his eyes, refusing to let her draw him any further out of sleep. "The sun up?"

She paused. "No."

"It ain't mornin', then," he said.

"I miss you," she answered, more quietly, voice full of sincerity.

Okay. His eyes blinked open as he pictured her, the way she might look in this kind of light. _I miss you_. Such a simple sentence, but it hit him deep, making his chest ache. "Seein' you tonight."

"Yeah," she agreed. "But I miss you now."

He didn't even know what to say. "Where are you?"

"Takin' a walk," she said. "There are some good places to watch the sunrise here. I was gonna go see."

Waking up to see the sun rise. She was a farm girl, after all. He'd forgotten. "Alright."

"Alright," she repeated, teasing him a little. She went quiet for a few seconds, her walking and him listening, eyes drifting back close. "You work today?"

"Yeah," he said, tired and warm with her voice. "Be back in time, though."

"In time to what?"

She knew, to what. She just wanted to make him say it. "See you. Whatever."

"Whatever," she said, taking on a pitch and a cadence closer to his own, but he could hear her whisper of a laugh through the phone.

"Girl." A warning, but not really. He was tired but if she kept talking he'd be on the phone long after the sun was out.

"What?" she asked, sassing him.

"Gotta be up in a few hours. Goin' back to sleep." He didn't say anything else, letting the statement hang out there as if it was a question. Because she could ask him not to. When the fuck had this happened to him?

But she didn't ask him to, sighing. "Alright." And then, a second later: "Daryl?"

He scratched at the scruff on his jaw. "What?"

"I wanna see you," she said. "Like. Now."

"Now?" he asked. It still didn't seem like anything was strictly wrong, but she sounded urgent all the same.

"Yeah," she answered. "Can I?"

He didn't fucking know. Things weren't that cut and dry anymore. "Can you?"

"I could," she said, more slowly as she planned it out loud. "I'd have to… I'll probably tell Maggie. But I could."

That wasn't exactly his favorite idea of a plan, but he didn't know what input he could possibly have here besides his own. "Okay."

"Okay?" she asked, relieved.

"Yeah," he said, voice dry. "If you want."

"Do you want? I know you gotta-"

"Yeah," he interrupted. As if he was going back to sleep now anyways, blood stirring like it knew she was coming. "You can."

Another smile stretching over the phone. "Okay. Then I'll see you soon."

"Okay," he said, and she was gone.

Okay. So this is how his morning was going, now. He guessed it could be worse. A lot worse.

He got up in steps. Eyes open first. Let himself stare at the ceiling for a couple minutes before sitting up, too. He'd crashed in the same clothes he'd worn yesterday, on the bed this time since Merle was off seeing some buddy who'd just gotten out of a stint of being locked up, so he didn't have to change if he even would've in the first place. Reached for the pack of cigarettes on his nightstand, the lighter still in his pocket. Didn't bother with shoes, standing and shuffling until he was outside with the cool air that served to wake him up some more.

It took her less than an hour to show up, parking her jeep and bounding up his steps. She looked like she was still in pajamas, tiny tank and tinier shorts, an unseasonably heavy jacket falling off her shoulders like she'd grabbed it running out the door. She shrugged it back into place as she approached him, smiling, hair falling out of her ponytail that she'd obviously slept in. He'd seen her plenty less clothed than this, but this felt weirdly more intimate somehow, and he could only swallow as she came to a stop at his side.

She leaned out over the balcony like he was doing, sleeves of her jacket nearly long enough to cover her hands. "What're you doin' out here?"

"Waitin'," he said, tapping his ash off on the rail next to her elbow. "This."

"Oh," she said, and then turned her head into his arm, kissing along a curve there before nestling in a bit, her hand falling into his elbow to tug gently. "C'mon."

"C'mon what?" he asked, looking down at her, pointing in the direction of the sun that was still making its lazy way into the sky. "Thought you wanted to see."

"No. That's not what I want," she denied, shaking her head, and then she was taking his cigarette to flick it down to the concrete below them, pulling his arm towards his door. He didn't let her move him, watching it float down, bouncing and rolling until the ember burned out. "Your brother home?" she asked, pausing with her hand on the knob.

He shook his head, opening his mouth to explain, but she just pushed her way inside, pausing to hold it open for him.

Okay. He didn't think he was imagining that she was being weird.

He followed after her, catching a glimpse of her golden hair in the purply light before it disappeared. But the atmosphere shifted somehow when that door closed behind him, enveloping them in heavy quiet as she turned to look at him, and there was something in the way she was staring - biting her lip back from a wider grin - that made him think he was starting to realize what this might be. What kind of spur of the moment visit this was.

He was too old to be having this many firsts.

She stepped backwards, out of the range of the window. The daylight wasn't really touching in here yet, leaving them both in darkness that felt dense, broken only by whatever parts of her skin that were able to catch the light. But he didn't feel suffocated, here, not with her, both her hands reaching for his shirt to pull him towards the bedroom. He let her, not speaking, because even if he was gathering some kind of idea of what she was angling for he wasn't about to make that jump.

But he didn't have to. No sooner had they crossed the threshold before she was pulling herself into him, one arm wrapping around the back of his neck to pull him down into a kiss that started deep but slow. That sound seemed loud, her mouth on his, both her arms winding their way behind his shoulders so that she was almost hanging off of him. He didn't surrender to her, yet, letting her fingers ease soothingly into his hair, pressing every line of herself against him, her kisses turning into long, persuasive lavishes on his lips and cheeks. She brought herself taller, letting her hand fall under his jaw as she coaxed his mouth open, spearmint and chapstick and her. He did give into her, then, like he'd known he would, feeling her smile as his own hands skimmed down to the dip of the small of her back and then, fuck it, both hands to palm over the supple curve of her ass.

He was wide awake, now, acutely aware of her feet tiptoeing them backwards towards his bed, and this was so much better than sleeping in.

But he had to be sure that he wasn't misreading her eager hands, and he pulled his head back away from the reach of her mouth before she could bring them any further. "Beth."

But she ignored him, hands falling from his shoulders to his chest, smoothing his buttons open one by one.

He caught her wrist. She hadn't bothered with any kind of cuff this time, he noticed, and that filled him with the same kind of ache as the _I miss you_ had. "_Girl_."

"What?" she asked, almost pouting, lips and cheeks already rubbed red.

He didn't let her fall far, but moved his hands to the safer territory of his sides. "Why're you here?"

She shrugged, exasperated, fingers going back more slowly to his shirt as if he wouldn't notice, keeping on with the buttons. "I told you. I wanted to see you."

"Seein' you later," he told her for the second time that morning, letting her palms go to him as she watched herself, featherlight tips of her fingers outlining his chest. She looked entranced, staring at him like he could imagine he was always looking at her, and Christ if that didn't make everything start rushing again, his lungs squeezing uncomfortably as his blood hammered everywhere for her.

"Seein' you now," she said, quirking an eyebrow at him. "How many tattoos do you have?" she asked, innocently curious and distracted as she traced, one hand going back to grab at his shirt and pull him more in her direction. Before he was expecting it, she was pulling herself back into him, kissing him again with her arms twined around him. He didn't stop her or even try, picking her a solid few inches off the ground with how hard he squeezed her, making her squeal even as one of her hands dropped to his belt between them. She was getting better at it, able to pull the leather free of the buckle before he could remember that he'd been trying to ask her a question.

"Beth," he said against her mouth, trying to be stern, but his hands were back on her hips and the bed was right there and this was so hard.

"Daryl," she answered, leaving crescent digs of her nails against his stomach as he set her back to her feet. "I just - I missed you," she said, her mouth at the base of his neck.

That was unbelievable. It was literally unbelievable, in the truest sense of the word, and nothing about it made sense, but he forced himself to nod, guiding her back the last foot until the backs of her knees were against the bed and he could ease them both down. "Okay."

She smiled like she'd had a victory, and he guessed she had, but she could always win if this is what she was asking for. He didn't have anything stopping him now and she was so small as he made his way over her, small enough to pick and move and hold. Or maybe not hold, because she was so wild as she wrapped herself around him, wild and needful and here, taking off her shirt and her shorts so she was as bare as he'd ever seen her, falling back to his mattress and pulling him more on top of her with hands that weren't leaving much room for argument.

She hitched her legs around him, squeezing his hips as a hand on his cheek brought him to face her. "I haven't," she whispered. "Since the car or outside. I haven't-" she swallowed, thumb stroking along his lower lip. "I wanted to see you."

A sudden wave of further understanding hit him, and he could laugh if he wasn't burning all over, letting his hips roll into her, half hard and all fire as she closed her eyes. She was here because he'd said he'd take care of her and he hadn't. "Haven't what?" he asked. She'd pulled him apart with her words and a palm. He could afford to be a kind of a dick right now.

She flamed, dropping her hand from him so it could fall above her head. "You know."

He fell to her neck, biting gently. He wouldn't leave any marks on her today, but he could be sure she'd feel him, giving her another thrust of his hips that made her squirm. "Tell me."

She'd told him she'd gotten wet thinking about him. She could do this. He waited, her head turning so he could gather her hair out of the way to press his mouth behind his ear, hips moving into her without him really even telling them to. Her hands were coming back up to him, punishing pulls at the nape of his neck as she pushed into him like he was doing to her, making his breath catch as she turned his rhythm into something harder and slower, enough that her breath shook every time he landed against her. It was picking up, again, the push and the pull, his hand grabbing into the hair at the back of her head to hold her still as he began to rut into her. He ducked to where her tits waited beneath him, rubbing his cheek against one to make it red like her mouth was before pressing against her with his lips. She was small here, too, but that just meant that when he opened his jaw he could take almost all of her into his mouth, his teeth scraping against her skin.

He was rock hard, now, and she hadn't come but neither had he, and when he whined into the muffling locks of her hair he thought it was going to be over for him before it even really began. She was encouraging him along, heels slipping along the bed as she tried to meet him, nails scouring down his arms as she met his noises with ones of her own, high pitched and feminine. He could feel it building, frantic and messy, her nipples hard against his tongue and then his cheek as he pressed his face against her when it became too much.

But he couldn't. This wasn't for him, not yet, and even as it physically fucking hurt him, his nerves battering against the base of his spine with what he'd denied himself, he slowed, blood rushing loud enough that he almost didn't hear her when she started speaking

"Don't stop, please," she was pleading, frustrated as her hips trying to urge him back into action. "I want to, I - "

"I know," he grunted, feeling nothing resembling victory as she whined, trying to control the simmer between his hips. He eased out from between her legs to rest at her side, trying to stop the friction and tension. "I know. I got you. Easy."

She didn't want to go easy, though, pressing up harder than before, her hand pulling his past her chest to urge him below. He collapsed against her shoulder, completely lost to her and in her, vanilla on her skin and flowers in her hair, skin soft and touch hard with kisses on his forehead that were harder. He didn't know where to start, now, where to put his hands, touching down her waist to the curve of her hips, trying to sate her with his own thigh as he shoved it up against her between her legs. She took advantage immediately, rutting her hips in frantic grinds as her hand curled to turn into a claw on his shoulder, biting her mouth closed with a whine as her breath fanned over him.

She twisted with a whole new kind of ferocity when he gave her his hand like she'd wanted, too, reaching down to cup her, pressing his fingers in so he could rub her over the cotton. Hard and slow like she'd given him with her hips, fingers slipping as she twitched.

She was overwhelming him so fast. It wasn't that he hadn't known how he'd left her, and even if hadn't been at all something planned the promises he'd left for her had been following him. Her pleasure, him giving it to her or her taking it for herself, being there at all, seeing her get so close - that had pained him, too. But he hadn't thought of her being like this, of her coming in full of determination and demands for him that he was seriously desperate to give to her.

Desperate. That was the word, here, not gentle waves there for him to pull higher, but tidals and currents against his hand with a jerking rhythm that was all her own. He felt himself lower, slowly, past hollows of her collarbone, down her chest where he'd successfully rubbed her red, down her stomach and past her hips so he was nearly face to face with her cunt. His angle was better here for him to ease off her clit, giving her a second's reprieve before he was sinking a finger inside of her. She took him so easily that he wondered for a second if she even felt him at all, but then her whole body shuddered, her legs bending to spread wider and to push herself into his finger.

He brought his hand out to rest on her stomach, wrapping around the opposite hip in the hopes that the extra weight might keep her from rising. He looked down at her as he let himself go deeper, at her dense patch of curls visible under the cotton, hair peeking through, her breaths nervous and thick, and none of it was enough to mask the noise as he fucked into her, of her cunt sucking in his finger with greedy clenches. He could feel the flutters of muscles on her stomach under his hand, her hips fighting against him as they jutted up to his touch. The heel of her foot dug its way against his ribs, dragging down his side as she strained.

He looked up at her as he let his hand pick up some speed, settling into the rhythm of her breathing as she struggled and heaved, all of her soft and warm. He'd never even seen her naked before, he realized. Not like this, the diamond of skin between the bones of her ribs and hips, the curves of her tits and the tips of her nipples as she shook and twisted, little hands reaching to the mattress above her so that all of her was displayed and open and taut. He looked at her and he felt her and he heard her, and he thought that what he was feeling right now was what some people might feel when they walked into a church. On his knees and at her feet, her skin glowing and dewy like it was soaking up all the light in the room, and it hit him that he was grateful. A particular strain of grateful that he didn't think he'd ever experienced before, grateful to be alive, here, grateful for all the fuckups and all the shit and whatever else had gotten him here with his finger inside of her and her sighs and mewls falling softly around him. He was grateful and this was easy and she was wet and beautiful, and even if he didn't know where he was supposed to aim his thanks or if he was supposed to give them at all, he was alright with giving them to her.

He inched down, open mouthed on the top of her thigh and then the side and then the crease, and not only could he smell her here - sharp and strong and outside of any comparison he could think to make - but he could taste her, too, traces of wetness that had escaped from her cunt to slip between his lips. But then another kiss, this one hard against where he estimated her clit would be right as he sank three knuckles deep inside of her. He knew he had the right spot, knew from the way her thigh nearly slammed against the side of his face with how hard her legs twitched close.

He brought his hand from her stomach to wrap it around her leg and coax her back open, picking up his stuttering hands as soon as he had the space to move again. He placed more open kisses and then his tongue wet against the cotton, more of her taste where she'd seeped through. He glanced to where she'd propped herself up on her elbows so she could look down at him, chest and neck and cheeks all cherry and flushing deeper by the second, her hair a wild blonde tangle.

She looked nervous.

It was the first time he thought he hadn't been.

"Good?" he asked, letting his finger fall out of her so she could give him some semblance of a real answer.

"Oh," she said, lips plump from how she'd kissed him as she blinked, hips rolling toward him in an unconscious little question for more. He gave his mouth to her and she fell, raking her hands through her hair. "_Oh_."

"Beth." He could feel the heat coming off her, her wetness drying on his palm. "C'mon, girl. Tell me."

"Just…" she said, giving him another undulation as she sighed. "Go slow. Please. I-" Her voice cut off in a whimper as he lowered his mouth to her again, twisting two fingers into her. He could go slow. He could. He could force himself and he did, long kiss at the top of her mound, gentle soak of his tongue so he could get her wet like she was getting him. "I just - I -"

But there weren't anymore words, all of them dying as soon as she tried to get them out. Another first for him in a line of them that seemed to be endless, hesitating for just a second before giving her a long lap of his tongue over her underwear. He didn't even know if she could feel it, but God he loved this, the traces of her he was catching, the strangled sounds he was wrestling out of her, trying to keep her still.

But soon it wasn't enough, for him or for her, and he was nosing past her underwear to kiss her directly where she was spread. She curled, then broke into the opposite direction of an arch before settling back into breaths that rocked her chest as he kissed her again. She was more wet than he knew what to do with, already coating his lips and his tongue as soon as he opened his mouth. Thicker than water, but that didn't stop him from licking her deeper and swallowing her down, soft stubble nothing like his own rubbing against his cheeks. He tried to focus, tried to center back to where she needed, but there was so much of her to feel. The hood of her clit, her lips and then more inside as she spread under his mouth, his own fingers disappearing inside of her, every bit of her fleshy and wet and offering all different kinds of smooth textures for his tongue as he darted it out again. He'd never done this before and now he didn't want to stop, gathering himself enough to feel how she was twitching around him, her whimpers peaking and breaking in constant rotation.

But no sooner had he gotten used to the idea of staying here, for as long as she needed him and then maybe longer just to see what more of her there was to explore, she was wrenching her legs shut past the block of his hand, her whole body curling in towards her core as she came with a cry that vibrated through his skin. He didn't know what to do, so close like this, looking down and actually seeing her cunt close in hard clenches around his finger, more wetness flooding and her clit swelling as her thighs quivered with how strongly she had them tensed.

He rested his chin at the top of her mound as it ended, feeling spent as if he'd come, too. She looked as if she was asleep, skin patchy with red as her fingers twitched along with the rest of her.

Grateful all over again.

They both rested.

* * *

There was never enough time. It couldn't have been more than half an hour before he was lifting himself off the bed from where he'd been resting beside her as they came down, her's heavier and lingering.

"Where'd you go?" she asked sleepily, rolling into the space he'd occupied, naked and looking for all the world like she was at ease here. Not trying to hide anything. He hoped she never would.

"Showerin'," he said. Just so he wouldn't have to try and handle smelling her and tasting her for the rest of the fucking day. The memories would be enough. "Just be a minute."

He stepped into the adjoining bathroom, turning the shower up to the hottest it would go, leaving the door open a crack so he wouldn't feel like he was totally leaving her. He got rid of the clothes, looking at the lines of red left at his pelvis from where she'd struggled with his pants, stepping into the shitty shower with the shitty water pressure. He was still hard, hissing as the water hit him, trying to find a temperature that didn't set him trying to hump the water. He could do this. This was something he was definitely capable of doing. He could take a shower without thinking of her naked outside, of her wet and of her sweet and of her flowing.

His arm landed hard against the wall as he braced his head against it, giving his cock a tug that gave him exactly zero relief. Maybe he fucking couldn't.

He was aware enough to hear the creak of the door as it opened, and he looked around the curtain to see her standing there. She was just as naked as she had been outside, her underwear wrinkled and loose from all the handling it had gone through. She closed the door behind her, smiling when she'd realized he'd noticed. "Hi."

"What're you doin'?" he asked, taking another fill of her, where she cinched and where she curved.

"I'm comin' in," she said. She sounded so comfortable with herself, hooking her thumbs around her underwear to step out of them, toeing off her socks.

He should've predicted this, but he hadn't, and as he considered his current situation he felt a thread of panic forming tightly wound. She could not come in here. Not now. Because there were still things. Things he hadn't told her or shown her or even wanted to. Not like he'd been hiding it from her. This wasn't something he'd thought much about. Not in years. He worked around Merle, the history going unspoken because why the fuck would they need to talk about it, and why the fuck would anybody else give a shit? His story wasn't unique, not even unique for his fucking block.

But that didn't mean he was alright with this.

She was pulling out what was left of her ponytail, looking in his drawers for what he guessed was a brush like she lived here. She didn't find one, choosing instead to brush through a couple tangles with her fingers, the blushes on her skin settling back to creamy white.

He couldn't tell her no. He was so stupid, seeing exactly where this was going, the inevitable end, because his life had become nothing but one expected cliche rolling into the next since he'd met her, and of course this was happening. He was already resigned to it, because what more could he say? What more could he do? She wanted to come in and that should've been some sort of miracle, and he couldn't imagine any possible scenario where he said no to her outside of this.

She pulled the curtain aside while his heart picked up with a whole new kind of adrenaline, because he had no idea what was about to happen or what to expect and fear wasn't an emotion he had ever figured out how to cut out room for. She stepped in behind him, cool air pillowing in around him and making him shiver until she closed the curtain back to seal the heat.

But then there was silence.

He glanced back over his shoulder at her, and she had seen. He knew she had seen, her eyes caught somewhere between confusion and concern as her mouth opened and her hands hovered over him, water splashing up near his shoulders.

There was no more resting.

**HAH you thought there wouldn't be angst? Yeah. I'm leaving you on a scar cliffhanger again. Sorry. I'm actually not sorry. I'm going to stop fake apologizing**


	31. Chapter 31

**Hey, it's me, your local resident cliffhanger cockblock. **

**Honestly, I just suck. I don't really know what happened - I was busy this summer traveling and school picked up, the usual excuses, blah blah blah - but I really did have this chapter about 75% written when I published that last bit. I mean, I know I'm awful, but I never intentionally meant to be THAT awful. The longer it went untouched the harder it became to come back to it. But, here I am, with a chapter that I'm not at all sure was worth the wait but that I am going to put out there anyways because there were several of you that continued to PM me about this and people reviewing and y'all don't deserve to be left out in the cold. So here we go, because what do I have better to do than post some fanfic at midnight on a Friday? Nothing. So enough of my babbling. And truly truly truly thank your for anybody who cared enough about this to check back after months of silence, and anybody who cares to read it now.**

She just stood there.

She didn't mean to. She knew this wasn't the right reaction - if there was really a right reaction - and she was tearing through her thoughts and memories as quickly as she could to try and think of what needed to be said right now. When the roles had been reversed, when he'd seen her wrist, he'd given her space to explain and to breathe, but they were both naked and in this shower and he wasn't offering any sort of explanation. She guessed he didn't have to. So many scars, ugly and deliberate, some crossing over each other, and he was letting her look. She couldn't even begin to understand what that might mean. She knew what this was just like he'd known what hers was, and even if she'd figured some things out about him she was beginning to understand how little she understood.

And she was thinking, too, of other things, mind racing in all nonsensical directions. There was something she'd liked to do, long enough after the hospital that her family had started to trust her and let her out on her own, and that was to let herself feel small. Choosing a crowded place with plenty of foot traffic, maybe taking her journal if she felt like she'd need it, and just watching. Watch so many people with so many lives, all unique with histories and loves and heartbreaks of their own, so many stories and so many intricacies and she wasn't in any of them. Wasn't even a character. She was just another face in the crowd, not a feature or a side thought or anything.

There was something comforting about that, about seeing all these gears turning both together and individually, and allowing herself to be a part of the background. She might've lost some of her faith, but seeing all of it come together like that gave some of it back.

But now she was looking at Daryl and the hurt that had been done and it hit her all over again how little she knew. How little she could even guess. She knew he had history, that he hadn't just sprung into existence when he'd sat in her section that night, that he carried some years and that those years carried stories just like all those people she'd imagined thoughts for. Maybe she could've guessed this. Should've. She wondered if she'd missed something, somehow, or why here and now.

He hadn't ever been naked with her and she guessed now she knew why.

She was taking too long and he wasn't saying anything, water falling in rivulets down his back, dripping from his hair made black. She felt wildly out of her depth, here, young in more ways than just her years, naked in more ways than just her clothes. It was cold standing where she was, too, out of the reach of the water, steam billowing off the spray and off his skin as he stood strong and tall and lean and dark. She was frozen, and before she could even stop it those same words she'd learned to dread when the roles were reversed were coming out of her mouth: "Do you want to talk about -"

"No," he said, cutting her off and looking back forwards. "Is what it is is."

No room for question. "Okay," she swallowed, nodding even though he couldn't see. "But, Daryl, I - have you ever -?"

"Beth." Louder. Almost pained, his head ducking forward to pull the muscles around his neck taut.

So he didn't call her in here to talk. She guessed, really, that he hadn't called her in at all. But he'd left the door open and hadn't done anything to stop her and she'd thought - but he was saying no. She could respect that. She could understand.

She couldn't stop herself from seeing, though. From seeing all of it, the extent of the damage, and she couldn't help but wonder. His brother was her first thought, but she quickly shoved that aside. No. She might not know a lot, but she knew he wouldn't have stayed with him if that's where this'd come from. She'd heard a little about his mother, and hadn't noticed any malice there. So that left his father, which maybe it wasn't even important but of course, yes, it was.

"Who - was it -?" she tried, her voice sounding small.

"He's dead," he said, finality ringing even as his tone went inflectionless. "Don't matter."

"Oh," she said, but yes, it mattered, and yes, it was important just like he was important, and standing here looking at him she thought she might be getting some small glimpse into how her family had felt when they'd looked down at her in the days after.

And hadn't she hated that? Hadn't it just made everything worse? Being stared at like something lost or broken, fragile and delicate and on the verge. This was different. She knew that. Different kinds of heartbreak, different wheels turning and different stories being spurned on, but she found herself rooting into the similarities. She looked at him, feeling an unfamiliar, viciously sorrowful anger stirring in her chest, and this was another one of those moments where he didn't seem old at all.

Okay.

Deep breaths, even though the air was visibly thick with humidity, making her lungs feel dense. She remembered some things, from right after she'd woken up in that bed so weak, not bleeding anymore but newly stitched and red and raw. Before she'd had the cuff, she'd gone out for the first time on her own just for some simple errands, but she'd underestimated how quickly people would suss out her wrist and come to their own conclusions. It was beautiful, sometimes, the kindness of others. But it was also awful in ways she couldn't quite articulate.

She's learned. Gotten some bracelets and then the cuff. Didn't use that hand for much unless she had to. Wore something to cover up even at home so her family couldn't catch guilty glimpses of what she'd tried to do. One scar was easier to cover up than the dozens she was looking at now, though, all in varying depths and lengths and colors, and she wondered briefly what kinds of things he'd missed out on trying to hide this. How old he had been. For how long.

But she was staring and standing again, and if she felt lost she couldn't even imagine where his head was at. She couldn't expect him to be the one to move on from this, to bridge the gap from where they had just been a few minutes ago to where they were now.

So she reached past him for where there was a bar of soap in the little built in shelf, letting her chest brush up against his back, feeling him stiffen. He didn't even have a rag in here, which she guessed wasn't all that surprising. He barely had anything in here at all. There was that crossbow under the bed, but nothing in the way of possessions. Things, tangible and able to hold history or stories. But that was a problem for another time. For now there was the soap in her hand, the way he pressed just barely away from her when she leaned to kiss his shoulder and then a little more when he felt her fingers at his spine.

"What're you doin'?" he asked sharply, clearly alarmed.

"Didn't you come in here to shower?" He didn't answer, taking another quick glance at her over his shoulder before looking away and nodding. "Okay. Then that's what I'm doin'."

She hadn't been nervous when she came in here and she wasn't nervous now. She'd never been so exposed before, and she'd never seen this much of him before, but it was all framed differently now. She was being gentle. So, so gentle, because maybe he needed a little gentleness right now, or maybe always. Even as she dug her fingertips in near his shoulders, massaging, she was gentle. No nails here. Nothing but heat and water and them, even her words sounding saturated with the density of the air.

"Maggie came home with a tattoo, once," she said, sudsing away. "Her first year of college. Right on her hip. Didn't even make it a whole night before Daddy and Mama saw. Little butterfly," she said, and snaked her arm around to tap him on the spot that mirrored it. He was still stiff under her hands, but _oh, my God_, he was strong. Not that she hadn't known or guessed just from the broadness of his shoulders and the way he could lift her - or hold her down, now - but there was a difference between imagining and seeing. "Maggie was screamin', Mama was hollerin', Daddy was just sittin'. I listened from the top of the stairs."

His head ducked down again, his arms reaching out to brace himself against the wall so that his shoulders flexed, muscles moving so gracefully under the skin and ink and scars that all she could do was stare for a second.

"It went on for forever," she went on when she'd found her breath again. "I thought maybe - Maggie sometimes did things to prove a point. I went downstairs. 'I think it's fake, Daddy.'"

He didn't answer at first, and she waited, twisting the soap in her hands to renew the bubbles. He didn't move when he spoke. "Was it?"

She smiled. "Yeah. It was. Maggie'd never get a butterfly." His shoulders didn't seem as tense now, at least, and he was even starting to sway with the pressure of her fingers as she worked her way easily down. She put the soap back where she'd found it, giving his back a final rub. "I thought of maybe gettin' one after that, though," she went on absently, stepping up onto the edge of the tub so she was looking down at him, reaching for his lone bottle of shampoo - 2 in 1, of course, more utility over luxury - and tapped on his shoulder. "Turn to me."

He didn't, at first. She thought she could see him breathing, shoulders leaning into a second that pulled on for longer than it should've. But then he did, wooden feet and wooden steps, padding until he was facing her with his eyes level at her chest.

Her turn to breathe. In, hold, out. Not that she was burning for him anymore, but he was looking at her - eyes not dead like she'd feared, but alive and aware and sharp - just like she'd been looking at him, and it always hit her more deeply when it was like this. He wasn't hard anymore, not like how she'd seen him when he first walked in here, but it wasn't about that now. She just wanted so badly to look at him. Touch. Explore. Learn. There was so much of him that was beautiful to look at, and so much she wasn't familiar with. She wanted the education his anatomy had to offer her, even as innocently as this.

But it wasn't the time, and instead she emptied some shampoo onto her palm and then just onto the top of his head. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands or with his anything, really, eyes still focused on her chest and neck with his arms hanging heavy and useless at his sides. He was beginning to resent this, she could see, obstinate refusal to give himself into the moment.

"Don't gotta fuckin' wash me," he muttered, still not looking, falling in closer to her when her fingers urged him towards her. "Not a damn dog."

"I know," she said, massaging more towards the base of his neck. "But it feels good, doesn't it?" He was relaxing more now despite himself, shoulders falling, head bobbing a little with her hands. He looked a little funny, always out of place when it came to anything even remotely domestic, but she didn't laugh. "You deserve to feel good."

He didn't say anything, but she didn't expect him to anymore when she said things like that. She made a quiet note to do it more often. Maybe he was uncomfortable with it, but he could adapt. She felt all of a sudden like she had years upon years of other people's disappointments to make up for, like no amount of kindness she could offer him would be enough. But she could start here, massaging his scalp, pressing down towards the nape of his neck when his head finally fell forward so the crown of it rested on her sternum. She could see his back again, and she took the time to look without the layers of shock and sorrow coloring her vision. Wanted to get it out of her system now. Wanted to memorize. It was beautiful, in an odd sort of way. The way the lines moved when the muscles underneath them flexed, the way they accented the shape of him. She had hated her own scar for so long, for everything it represented - weakness in a moment, there to remind her for life - but she looked at him and saw strength. Survival. Endurance.

She didn't think calling him beautiful right now would go over very well, but she leaned in as close as she could without losing her balance, letting her hands find his shoulders for a gentle squeeze before returning to his hair.

"What would you get?" he asked after a few more minutes more of that, enough time that she had gotten just as lost in the process as he had.

"Hm?" she asked drowsily, pulling herself back into the moment.

"Ink." His voice was muffled from his angle, but not as sharp as before.

"Oh." She considered it slowly, reaching for the shower head and tugging before realizing it wasn't adjustable. She sighed, rinsing her own hands before pressing him back into the spray. "Something to do with music, I think."

He nodded, still not looking at her as the water ran clear. She was just touching him now, collarbone and chest and arms. "You didn't?"

She grinned. "Think you would've noticed by now."

"Yeah," he agreed, and it was almost there, a smile just a breath away, close enough that she could feel her heart fill at the prospect of it.

She thought of the devils he had inked on his shoulder, outlined his chest. The water was starting to lose its edge of heat, and she could tell he was starting to get uncomfortable again. "Did it hurt?" she asked, trying to distract him, not wanting to leave yet. "The tattoo."

He shrugged, and to her surprise one of his hands came to the outside of her leg, the backs of his knuckles trailing down. He was looking at her like she'd looked at him, eyes going everywhere, not lingering in any one place. "Not after a while."

There were more questions she had that she wasn't going to ask, and that she wasn't sure she ever would, about timelines and the decisions he'd made and how he'd gotten here. She swallowed those down, reaching with her foot to swivel the handle so that the water turned off, leaving him dripping and her shivering. "I'm guessing you don't have towels?" she asked, looking behind her.

"One," he answered, but then there was his arm wrapping around the back of her thighs, picking her up as easily as ever as he stepped out over the edge. Her hands flew to his shoulders, her head barely ducking in time to avoid the curtain rod. She curled herself over him a little, getting a firmer grip with a hand at the back of his head as he used his free hand to open the door. There was a whole new level of cold, then, doubled when he set her down to grab his clothes from the floor.

She turned to give him some reprieve of privacy, pulling her own shirt from the bed. Her phone that had been tucked into her waistband had fallen to the floor, and as she glanced at it she saw it light up with what looked to be the third or fourth message she had received. The morning had long since broken past dawn, sun coming in warm instead of cool and new, and time was running out. "You said you had work?" she asked, moving for her phone. All the notifications were from Maggie. She glanced over them - _mama's awake, how long you gonna be, if you miss breakfast you're on your own _\- and felt her stomach tightening unpleasantly with anxiety. She didn't want to leave things like this, better but still unfinished. She hadn't figured out that perfect arrangement of words to say, couldn't quite tell where his head was.

"Yeah," he said, and she turned in time to see him redoing his buckle. "Late."

"Sorry," she said, putting on her shorts, distracted by her own scrambling. She didn't want him stewing over this for the rest of the night, mulling over the scene to pull all the negativity out of it that he could, imagining all the things she wasn't saying.

"S'alright," he mumbled, turning back and grabbing a towel from under the sink to rub haphazardly at his hair. She was half surprised he didn't just shake around like a wet dog.

"Daryl," she started, picking at a cuticle.

He looked up at her and then away as he stood, dropping the towel on the ground and walking past her in a couple long strides to sit on the edge of the mattress. "S'fine. I'm fine," he said, pulling his boots out from under the bed and yanking them on.

She watched until he was done, then went to stand in front of him. Before he could say anything, she leaned down, pressing her lips against his forehead for a long and chaste kiss like he'd given her that time in front of her fridge, hoping he felt the same tingling warmth and safety and quiet affection that she had.

"I know," she offered, lips still against him. She took another quick kiss before looking down at him, smiling softly. "I'll see you tonight, then?"

He seemed a bit speechless, which she would accept as a good thing. He nodded once, clearing his throat. "I'll see you."

"Okay," she said, giving him another quick smile before bending down to gather her own socks and shoes and keys, gathering them to her chest before quickly padding her way through his living room and out the door.

She took a deep breath when she was outside. The air was refreshingly cool, not yet warmed by the sunrays that had already made their way over the horizon, and she tried to clear her senses from the shower's humidity that still seemed to cling to the inside of her lungs. She needed some of that freshness now, needed to think back on what had just happened with some kind of perspective. Scars and stories and histories and secrets.

She felt kind of like they'd only just begun.

**As of… Feb 19, I am officially working on the next chapter of this, for those of you who are still reading. All the love in the world.**


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